A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían
by Nemis
Summary: The story of Elrond and Celebrían. *finished* Stretching from the Second Age to the Fourth.
1. Chance Encounter

None of this is mine, it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. 

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_…and it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it._  
**JRR Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn**

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**Chapter One Chance Encounter**

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Elrond moved his fingers over the centre of his forehead, softly massaging the skin, trying to make the ache leave. His attendants knew better than to disturb him, not certain what it was that plagued the Lord of Imladris.

It was tiredness, and he was well aware that he had overworked himself, trying to forget the other thing that troubled him so. Somewhere in his mind, it said that he would have to go out this evening, leave the silent haven of his own rooms, for one of the large feasts that had taken place every couple of nights since the first of his guests had begun arriving.

A vision of a person, at the same time made the headache worse and better.

It made something in his stomach flutter. He cherished that vision, fully aware that the object of his affection had not given him even the slightest indication of returning the feeling. Not that he dared look for it.

And suddenly it were the words of his old friend and Master, the High King of the Elves, Gil-galad, teasing him as he found him in one of the libraries of Lindon, bent over annals and maps, puzzling together the histories and myths of Middle-earth.

'Peredhil, you spend too much of your time here. Go out, find love.'

Elrond smiled at the recollection; the High King himself had never married. Gil-galad lived by the saying 'Do not as I did, but as I say'.

Even now, his voice seemed to linger in the room.

'True love is a blessing, meldir, but, like beauty, it lies in the eye of the beholder. If true love is what you are looking for, discern between lust and love as you do between animosity and friendship.'

Elrond had never seen Gil-galad do so himself.

But it made a smile slip over his lips, nevertheless.

It disappeared as he once again considered his present situation.

_How can one be blessed by true love if the sentiment is not returned?_

_To lapse into the same folly as Celebrimbor…_

Yet Elrond found, perhaps in that memory, also the courage to get on his feet and make ready for dinner.

Celeborn stood talking near the entrance of the dining hall and greeted Elrond with a broad smile, ending his conversation and joining him.

'I have convinced Glorfindel to sing for us tonight, after dinner.'

Elrond raised an eyebrow as he returned an amused smile.

Despite of being one of the haled singers among the Elven Lords, Glorfindel rarely gave in to such appeals, making the times when he did an enjoyable occasion.

'I did not know he took requests?' Elrond said, a soft irony melting through his tone.

'An exception to prove the rule.' Celeborn shrugged as they walked to their places at the table.

As he reached his chair, Elrond wondered how long he had known Celeborn. It had been so long… They had met when Celeborn came to Lindon, when Elrond had only recently arrived there himself; before many of the Noldor living there and in Greenwood had decided to move to Eregion, near the West-gate of Moria. Already married to Galadriel, who had come with him, they had sat together during many councils with Gil-galad, as the evil had begun to stir again. Much later, Celeborn had been near Eregion when Sauron attacked that fair city.

Elrond clearly recalled the moment when Gil-galad had sent him, together with a force, to Eregion, at the same time asking Númenor for help. The road had been too long and he had not arrived in time to put his army between the city and the Enemy, knowing the help from Númenor would not arrive for many years. Sauron had been approaching Eregion when Celeborn made a manoeuvre to drive him back; but just long enough for his force to join Elrond's. They tried together to keep Sauron from reaching the city, but his host was far greater than theirs; vast enough to both hold them off and to advance on Eregion. They barely succeeded to clear the way for the fleeing Elves from the city to join them, staying only until Sauron, after failing to torture out the location of the Three Rings, in his dark anger, with Celebrimbor's body pierced with Orc-arrows hung upon a pole, turned his mind to battle again.

They would have certainly been overwhelmed if Sauron's army had not been attacked in the rear by a force sent out from Khazad-Dûm, joined with Elves from Lórien. Elrond had been able to escape, and, forced away northwards, had established the stronghold of Imladris.

But after they arrived there, it lay besieged by an army sent after Elrond's force, holding him enclosed while Sauron made way for Eriador. They held on until finally the Númenórean fleet arrived, enabling Gil-galad to de-route Sauron's attack on Eriador, and causing him to flee back to Mordor.

Leaving Imladris, Elrond had met Gil-galad's force, together crushing the army between them. Jointly they had returned to Imladris, now two centuries ago, and it was there that Galadriel, looking for her husband, found Celeborn a short time ago.

Gil-galad, setting out to inspect the remnant of his troops which still camped alongside the Bruinen, had promised to return in a matter of days, at which time a council would be held. Elrond suspected the High King had been waiting for the arrival of the Lady Galadriel to call it officially.

But for now Elrond was left with his guests. The Last Homely House was filled with visitors, of whom some would stay, their homes demolished, while others would return with their commanders. Back to Lindon or one of the western strongholds newly established by the Númenóreans.

Or to Belfalas, for that was where he heard Celeborn and Galadriel speak of. From all the places in Middle-earth, the farthest they could go.

All those things went through his mind, as he took his seat at the end of one of the long tables. Letting his eyes wander over the faces of the people around the table, his gaze was drawn to hers, he could not help it.

Celebrían's hair was the radiant silver of her father, with a golden lustre that came from her mother. Unlike her mother though, she wore her hair in braids, carefully twisted; an unimaginable weaving of silver-gold strands. In her white face the blue eyes stood out, and Elrond suspected that whatever they rested on was blessed.

Possibly it was therefore that he was startled when he found them resting on him. He looked away and back again, and felt himself a fool when their eyes met again; hers apparently not having left his face. As he felt a glow reaching his cheeks, not sure whether it showed, he was relieved to see Glorfindel entering the hall and coming towards him. It gave him time to recover.

'Word from Gil-galad, he lets you know he will be returning later this evening. And he asks you to assemble the Council tomorrow morning.'

'Very well.' Elrond returned, as Glorfindel took his seat next to him.

Celeborn leant forward and addressed Elrond.

'Gil-galad is returning?'

'Yes, he calls for a Council meeting tomorrow morning.'

Elrond carefully got hold of his drinking-cup and sipped it, not truly tasting the wine, his mind wandering to the assembly tomorrow, the voices of his guests reduced to a murmur.

Dinner drawing to a close, Elrond rose, and purely out of courtesy offered his arm to Celebrían, as Celeborn did with Galadriel, the lords escorting the ladies. Her hand resting on his made the hairs on his neck rise, and he realised what he had done. He was determined to conceal it nevertheless.

'You will stay with us, Master Elrond? Or do your duties call too vehemently?' Celebrían asked. Her voice was soft but clear, her words meant only for him.

The initiation of a smile lit up his face. 'Though my responsibilities weigh heavy this evening, I have no intention of missing Glorfindel singing.'

Only in his mind he added: _Nor the pleasure of your company._

Celebrían smiled with him as they entered the Hall of Fire and the singing commenced. As the voice of Glorfindel joined in, the others softened. Few unifying with him, most breaking off to listen.

Elrond knew the general line of the story Glorfindel sang, but was well aware every Elf gave his or her own interpretation when singing of the Ainulindalë. He heard of Ilúvatar, and the singing of the Ainur, the Holy Ones; the disharmony of Melkor; and finally the coming of the Firstborn and the Followers. There was a moment of silence before there was applause; it made Glorfindel bow with a smile. Elrond got on his feet, nodding to Celebrían, before joining Glorfindel and walking towards the exit of the hall.

'You will take care of my guests, Glorfindel?'

'I will, do not worry.'

Elrond cast back a look, gazing at Celebrían as she listened to the chanting, which had begun anew. He was thankful for the partial darkness as he entered the smaller hallways of the Last Homely House. Making his way towards the gardens, through which Gil-galad would have to come when he arrived, Elrond ventured to speak out loud, only the stars witnessing his sigh.

'Awaits me the same fate as Celebrimbor?'

The Jewel-smith had given his heart to Galadriel, unattainable to him since she loved another, and possibly sealed his fate by doing so.

Elrond had always considered Celebrimbor's actions foolishness, but now he thought he understood at least a small part of them. He recalled his own relief when, in the end, Celebrimbor saw through Gorthaur's scheme, and chose to go to Galadriel before coming to Lindon.

Gil-galad and Elrond had warned the Elves of Eregion against the offering of knowledge by the Dark Lord, but they longed for it so desperately that it destroyed them in the end. They too, had sealed their fate long ago.

He pushed his thoughts aside as he made out the sound of horses. Then the voice of the High King of the Noldor, bellowing in his joyful manner: 'Master Elrond, I was told you have a feast going on, will your guests not miss you?'

Elrond could see the smile on Gil-galad's face as he dismounted and they shortly embraced.

'And leave other guests unattended, my Lord?' He replied.

Gil-galad rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder for a moment.

'I am honoured… But we need to address issues, before the Council tomorrow.'

Together they walked towards Elrond's private library and study; the last male descendants of Finwë left in Middle-earth.

Gil-galad refused the wine Elrond offered him and, with a more serious demeanour than was his custom, sat down at the large rectangular table.

'Elrond, I need to speak in earnest with you, and your promise that you will not speak of it to a soul.'

Elrond sat down across the table and nodded. 'You have my word, my Lord.'

'It has been brought to my attention that the Dark Lord is extending his power eastwards. You know of the Rings Celebrimbor made?'

Elrond nodded and began to enumerate.

'Nine for Men, Seven for the Dwarves, Three for the Elves, all to be ruled by the One Ring, made by the Dark Lord in the fires of Orodruin.'

'Even before coming to Eregion, the Enemy knew where the Nine were, and he tortured the location of the Seven out of Celebrimbor… But Celebrimbor did not betray the Three…'

Elrond watched Gil-galad collect a small object from somewhere inside his travel clothing. Unfolding the silky cloth around it, a ring appeared. The attached stone was first colourless, but then suddenly, as if a wind blew away the clouds on a summer day, a blueness surged through it. Elrond watched Gil-galad put down the sapphire ring, together with the material it had been wrapped in.

'Vilya…' He whispered.

Gil-galad nodded.

'I knew _you_ would guess, and I do not doubt _he_ too has already guessed, where they are, Elrond. I cannot take the chance of two Rings staying together.'

Elrond looked up at him, inquisitively.

'Celebrimbor entrusted them to you?'

'Once he became aware of Sauron's scheme. He took the rings, meaning to conceal them and gave Nenya to Galadriel. The others he gave into my keeping, pleading me to find guardians for them. You know that it has powers. The ability to protect Imladris and it's people. I want you to take it.'

Elrond brought his hand to his head and lightly touched his temple. The headache had returned. When he looked up he saw Gil-galad was intently watching him. He nodded.

'I will do as you ask, my Lord.'

'Thank you, my friend.' Gil-galad left the chair, re-folded the ring, brought it over to Elrond and left it in front of him, as if he feared that the Master of Imladris would reconsider. 'Now get some rest, for the day will be long tomorrow and you look tired.'

Elrond mumbled a 'good night', but didn't move as he watched the bundle lying in front of him. Finally he picked it up and took it with him. Burying it in a pocket of his robes, he decided to leave it there until he found a safer place to keep it.

His mind never wandered to Celebrían that night.

It was not long after first daylight that the bell calling the assembly to the Council sounded. Elrond watched the representatives of the peoples of Middle-earth arrive. At the terrace looking out over the valley he bade them welcome.

Then he perceived all were present.

'I welcome you all to the Council. The first of many, even though its forming should have been under different circumstances.'

He went over the faces of those in attendance as he sat back; High-king Gil-galad, Oropher King of the Silvan Elves in Greenwood the Great and his son Thranduil, Glorfindel, Celeborn and Galadriel of Lórien, and Círdan of the Havens, as well as a young Elf named Erestor; Durin the Deadless, dwarf Lord of Khazad-Dûm and his two sons; Númenórean admiral Ciryatur and Atanamir, son of Tar-Ciryatan King of Númenor.

It was Gil-galad who stepped forward and began to report on what had happened since Sauron had been driven out of Eriador, back to Mordor. He spoke for a long while.

'…The peace we have now is only pretence.' He concluded.

'So you say, my Lord High-king, but I fear what you propose… Are the Elves of Greenwood the Great to be protected as those of Eregion and Eriador were? Methinks they should better trust on their own, as to prevent disappointment in the end.' Oropher sneered, a scornful smile on his face, as well as on his son's.

'Peace will not return unless Sauron is overcome.' Celeborn softly spoke, his eyes not meeting Oropher's, with whom he had often argued about cooperation with Lórien. Something which Oropher had contemptuously called 'intrusion'.

Oropher muttered something under his breath, and Elrond was glad to see Celeborn let the remark pass, fearing an open argument between the two.

Glorfindel began to speak before anyone else could.

'But pray tell, what will be done with the people of Eregion? It is known Eriador is being rebuild as we speak, but are we to rebuild Eregion as an Elven stronghold in the East, rather than simply maintain it here in Imladris as it is?'

Gil-galad nodded thoughtfully, but Elrond knew at once this had not been the first time the High King had discussed the subject with Glorfindel.

He suspected they had beforehand decided to bring it up.

'It is my opinion too, that it would be more prudent to make Imladris the main stronghold here, and to make its master my Vice-regent in Eriador. Especially now that we have to keep our eyes out for any sign that could warn of Sauron's return.'

Gil-galad rested his twinkling eyes on Elrond, who tried not to let his surprise get the better of him. He got on his feet and bowed his head.

'It would be an honour, my Lord.'

Gil-galad nodded again and looked around the circle of chairs.

'Perhaps we shall convene for now, and continue in the afternoon?'

Consenting sounds were heard, and the more private conversations were continued as most left the terrace, leaving only Gil-galad and Elrond.

'I wish you had told me of this.' The younger Elf said, walking over to the balustrade and looking down into the valley.

'And take away the pleasure of seeing that look on your face?' Gil-galad returned, the teasing tone very apparent. 'I merely gave you the official title of the duty you have been fulfilling for many years.'

As Elrond walked into the garden below his house, hands behind his back, he wasn't sure if he should be glad and honoured or the opposite. His mind somewhere else, he found himself confronted with the likeness that had previously been in his every thought.

Celebrían stood with her back towards him, her gaze resting on the sight, the riverbed below hidden by trees, only the sound of water betraying its presence. As he neared, listening to the chatter of the birds which perched on the branches, she turned towards him.

'You must be proud to be the lord of such a peaceful place.'

Elrond could do nothing but smile, folding his hands before him.

'It has surpassed the function it had in the beginning.'

'Is it not still a refuge?' She returned, as a small butterfly fluttered around her and she followed it with her head, letting it fly off as she fully faced Elrond.

He nodded slowly and watched Celebrían turn back again.

'I fear I shall have to leave, though. My mother longs for the sea.'

Elrond nodded again and moved beside her, the enchantment of Imladris driving away the other things on his mind.

Or perhaps it wasn't Imladris…

'Do you never feel the unquiet your father felt?' She asked him, out of the blue.

Unprepared for such a question, he considered it a moment.

'It seems I have my mother's fondness for the stars… And they can be found everywhere in Middle-earth.'

Celebrían smiled curiously.

'Is it true your mother was Elwing?'

Elrond nodded, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he looked at her.

'She was called so because she was born on a night of stars, their light glittering in the spray of the waterfall of Lanthir Lamath beside her father's house.'

'There are always stars in the old stories, aren't there?' Celebrían said, her gaze locked on something unseen, dreaming away.

Elrond suspected the question was not directed at him and stayed silent.

'You saved my father.' Was the next thing flung at him.

He bowed his head, the disappointment of the associated defeat still poignant, even after so many years.

'We should have saved Eregion. Instead we needed saving ourselves.'

'But you helped so many that fled from the city, people who would not have survived without protection.'

'If only we had heard sooner, I could have prevented it…'

'Perhaps… But possibly you would have perished, like Celebrimbor. There would be tales made about you now.'

Elrond smiled at the young Elf-lady, who in a few words reminded him that that which lies in the past cannot be changed, and sometimes for the better.

'Have you ever been to Lindon?' He asked her. 'The minstrels there are known for their remarkable tales.'

Celebrían smiled.

'I was born in Lórien, after my parents left Lindon, and some time before they went to Eregion. I have not had the pleasure of visiting the High-king's city yet.'

It was then that the bell sounded again, and Elrond took his leave from Celebrían. The chance encounter gave his mind a new place to explore when the council members pulled each other into superfluous discussions.

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Peredhil – Elrond's second name 'half-elven'

meldir – masculine form of friend

the Ainulindalë is the first part of the Silmarillion

Gorthaur is the Sindarin name for Sauron

Orodruin is the Sindarin name for the 'Mountain of Blazing Fire' in Mordor (basically Mount Doom)

Greenwood the Great would later be called Mirkwood, when the shadow of Sauron moved over it.

There are several sources that claim different times at which Gil-galad gave Vilya to Elrond. I chose the one in Unfinished Tales, which indicates the time of the first Council.

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	2. A Matter of Time

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_It was at that time that she received Nenya, the White Ring, from Celebrimbor, and by its power the realm of Lórinand was strengthened and made beautiful; but its power upon her was great and unforeseen, for it increased her latent desire for the Sea and for return into the West, so that her joy in Middle-earth was diminished._  
**Unfinished Tales, The history of Galadriel and Celeborn by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter Two A Matter of Time**

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Celebrían had not wanted to go to Rivendell, not in the beginning.

She had vividly recalled Eregion, where so many of the Noldor, the Elf lords, had dwelt, and where she had always felt out of place. Missing the innate beauty of her own Lórien, in a community that had cared more about precious metals and jewels than it had about people and nature.

She had expected Imladris to be the same, imagining it being like an army camp, since it had been founded as a refuge. But she had been pleasantly surprised after crossing the Bruinen; finding a place of learning and merrymaking, and the peace and quiet she had missed in Eregion.

The gentle teasing of Gil-galad, and the serious charm of Master Elrond had pleased her more than anything else. Except perhaps seeing her father again.

Her mother had… Celebrían wasn't sure what had happened to her mother.

But ever since Celebrimbor had visited them in Lórien, while her father was assembling a force in the west, there had been a change. It was as if Galadriel had lost joy in Middle-earth. The only reason for Celebrían consenting to go with her to Imladris, searching for her father since the war was over, was because of a feeling of worry.

Rather she would have stayed in Lórien.

Yet, arriving here, it seemed to have gone, at least for the time being, making Celebrían wonder if it had ever been truly there.

Much to her dismay, she had overheard her parents speak of leaving, when they had only just arrived. Again she had heard her mother mention the sea, her father pleading to stay a little longer, here, at Imladris.

They would, for now.

When the time came, leaving Imladris would be different from leaving Lórien.

Even the thought made her stomach twitch, depressing her so much she had to go outside; walk by the river and sit under the trees.

Not that she would admit it to anyone but herself.

Admit that she found the way in which she made Elrond son of Eärendil uncomfortable, when she looked at him, attractive.

Seeing him for the first time, he was not what she had imagined.

Gil-galad had met her expectations, but not Elrond; he had impressed her, and she had not anticipated that. She liked his seriousness, but she enjoyed the moments when he lowered the stone façade that lay over his face, letting a smile slip through, even more.

It was a silly, adolescent-love she was too old for. It would pass, she could handle it… She could.

But trying not to let it preoccupy her thoughts too often Celebrían joined the daughters of her parent's friends, some of whom she had known in Eregion. And they told her of Sauron and his defeat, sometimes sounding as if they had been present themselves, instead of being safely here at Imladris.

More often she would slip away alone, watching the waterfall from the overhanging rocks, and far away the snowy tops of the Misty Mountains

Sometimes she crossed the bridge over to the other side of the South-Bruinen and there could not help but sing, as she had in Lórien, peacefully sitting just out of reach of the misty wetness of the descending water.

And there it was, one afternoon, that she sang a tune she had learned from her mother when only a girl. Not having to remember the words, since they were so well-known to her, she was climbing down the rocks; wishing to see the valley from as high up as she could safely go. Not taking notice of her surroundings, it was only when nearing the bridge that she finally glimpsed up.

It was at that same moment that she stopped singing and heard a familiar rolling laugh echo all the way through the valley. Gil-galad stood on the rocks by the river on the other side, together with Glorfindel and Elrond.

Making sure she would not slip on her dress, she pulled it up and descended the last layer of rocks. From there she watched the three Elves, who seemed to be enjoying themselves, since further laughter commenced, as she remained unseen herself.

Gil-galad spoke with his hands, gesturing, stressing words as Glorfindel appeared to hurl them back with delight. This playful discussion seemed to be carefully observed by Elrond, and Celebrían could not see if he smiled, his back partially towards her. He wore robes in a colour she had not seen him wear before, a very light blue, almost the shimmering grey she herself was so fond of, the layers of fine fabric underneath much lighter in colour, almost white.

It seemed that suddenly Gil-galad and Glorfindel turned to Elrond in their light-hearted debate and he in turn left them to it, sporting a smile on his lips while rotating to watch the river.

Celebrían shuddered as his gaze fell upon her, and pretended she had not seen him, raising her voice and continuing her song as she slowly strode across the bridge. She was glad he could not see the blush on her cheeks.

Once across and out of sight, she picked up her pace and almost ran back to the garden that bordered on the chambers where she stayed with her parents.

Slightly panting she sat down on the lonely bench near the low stone wall and leaned back, taking a deep breath, laughing at herself.

Then she turned towards the valley and rested her elbows on the stone, drifting, dreaming, while the time slowly passed.

Though Elves do not need much sleep, Celebrían seemed to need even less now that she was in Imladris. Already wide awake at daybreak, she passed over breakfast and made way for the more hidden spots of the forest, planning to find the place where the water of the North-Bruinen plunged downward into the valley.

Though not commonly known to outsiders, Imladris lay between two small streams, generally referred to as the North- and South-Bruinen, which both originated in the Misty Mountains and came together at the Ford, there flowing on to meet the Mitheithel, turning into the Gwathló.

The riverbed of the South-Bruinen was more heavily forested than that of the North and it reminded Celebrían more of Lórien. She listened to the sounds surrounding her as she walked beside the river on her bare feet. It was not as remote as she had expected. The sound of the waterfall could be heard from afar, and Celebrían only needed to follow her ears.

'It is for a good reason that they call the Bruinen the Loudwater,' sounded a voice from nearby.

Celebrían was too surprised to recognize it immediately without seeing the face. Turning halfway to her left she recognized Elrond, standing only a few yards closer to the river and cascade.

He rested his hand on the bark of the tree, one of his feet placed higher because the mossy ground sloped steeply down to the riverbed. There was a less solemn air about him than there normally was. It could very well have something to do with his clothes. Instead of wearing his usual stately robes he now only wore trousers and a tunic, under a delicate but simple pastel auburn mantle, which fell off his shoulders like the water of the falls beyond.

'You startled me, Master Elrond.'

He bowed his head for a moment before looking up at her again.

'I did not mean to, my Lady.'

Celebrían turned back and headed for the water, hoping he would follow.

Arriving at the pool below the waterfall she started to sing softly again.

Looking up, she stopped and addressed Elrond, who had indeed followed, yet stayed at the side of the riverbed, a small distance removed.

'My father seemed a little displeased after the Council.'

'He had an argument with Oropher. He and Thranduil have left this morning; his irritability will soon pass, if it has not already.' Elrond returned as he climbed up the slope. 'There is a road that leads to the top of the fall into that direction.' He added, pointing.

'Not that I am complaining, Master Elrond, but will they not miss you back at the House?' Celebrían asked teasingly.

'If we do not tarry I think we can make it up the waterfall and back again, before they will send out a search party.' Elrond said as he walked past her with firm strides. Celebrían was not sure if he was teasing back or completely serious.

It was as they were half-way up the steep road that he explained his presence.

'I really came to find you, my Lady, since your parents have plans to depart soon and could not find you anywhere near.'

Celebrían looked at him absent-mindedly, suddenly overcome with a slight form of distress. She had feared this day since their arrival.

'Why did you not tell me immediately?'

'If you are to leave, could I let you go… without this view of Imladris?' he said, helping her up the final overgrown rock and showing her a truly breathtaking view of the valley and beyond.

'I am grateful you felt you could not,' Celebrían said, her eyes trying to take up as much of the view as possible. 'It is magnificent.'

They stayed for while before retracing their steps.

While doing so, they exchanged tales, and Celebrían wondered how he could bear listening to hers so intently. Surely he had heard more eloquent versions of those stories already? If he indeed had, it never showed.

When they re-entered the valley, Celebrían was somewhat disappointed. Preferably she would have walked around the forest with him much longer.

But her parents indeed seemed to be waiting for her as Elrond guided her into the garden. Celebrían knew her father still did not want to go. She also knew he would do anything to make her mother feel better, even if that meant travelling nearer to sea.

'Thank you for finding her, Elrond.'

Celebrían looked at her mother and decided not to object if she asked her to come. She had no intention of acting childishly in front of Elrond.

'Have you decided when to leave?' Elrond asked, his hands folded in front of him.

Galadriel smiled and nodded, her face radiant as ever.

'Tomorrow we shall begin our journey. Celeborn wishes to visit Lórien, before we travel south to Belfalas. He desires to cross the mountains here rather than going through Moria. If we waited any longer, the weather could become too treacherous, even to scale the lower reaches of the High Pass. If not for Lórien, we would have travelled south from here and taken the West Pass of Ered Nimrais instead.'

'That would have been my choice, I believe.' Elrond stated.

Galadriel smiled.

'I would invite you to come to Belfalas with us, but I know better than to do so. You will not leave Imladris or Eriador for long, unless to keep it safe.'

'I hope that time might not come sooner than any of us wishes.'

'As do I,' Galadriel returned softly. But as their gazes met, they both knew that it would always be too soon.

The next morning, the entire household came to bid them farewell.

Celebrían could only exchange a quick smile with Elrond as he stood next to Gil-galad. Both seemed to be aware of the fact that the chance of meeting again diminished with every step Celebrían's horse took south.

It would indeed take many years.

When Gil-galad, some three years later, returned to Lindon, he took his leave of Imladris with a warning to Elrond:

'Keep your eyes and ears open, it is merely a matter of time.'

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Lórinand is the name given to Lórien in the Unfinished Tales.

Mitheithel is Sindarin for Hoarwell

Gwathló is Sindarin for Greyflood

Ered Nimrais is Sindarin for the Mountains of the White Horns

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	3. Eärendil's Star

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Of surpassing beauty was Eärendil, for a light was in his face as the light of heaven, and he had the beauty and the wisdom of the Eldar and the strength and hardihood of the Men of old; and the Sea spoke ever in his ear and heart, even as with Tuor his father._  
**The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter Three Eärendil's Star**

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It was in 2251 of the Second Age, so stated in the Tale of years, that Atanamir, who had sat at the Council in Imladris so many years ago, took the sceptre from his father and became King of Númenor.

Rebellion and internal division of the Númenóreans followed.

At this time also, the Úlairi, the servants of Sauron were seen for the first time.

Elrond, forever watchful, received many messages from the south; but when the one came announcing the appearance of Nine Riders, who cried with the voices of death, he knew without a doubt that the Nine Rings had betrayed their masters, and that it truly was only a matter of time before Sauron would take up arms again.

And even though it is not stated in the books of lore, those that are kept in the last locations of learning; not even in the place the Númenóreans called Rivendell, it was during that same period that a party, rather than a messenger, made its way south by horse. They kept on the west side of the Misty Mountains and travelled through the West Pass of Ered Nimrais, the Pass that has no name, and rode through what in future times would become Gondor, to Belfalas. To Edhellond.

It had rained the second week of their journey, and the dampness still hung in their clothes. Elrond was glad they were entering warmer territories. It had been a long time since he had made such an expedition on horseback. The last time to and from Lindon, over a century ago.

Officially this wasn't taking place. On the record he was in Imladris. If there were messages that needed immediate attention, Glorfindel would cover for him.

But he felt certain there wouldn't be.

It was Celeborn that saw him first, as he dismounted and brought his horse in by the hand.

'Gil-galad has demoted you to messenger?'

Elrond pulled off his glove and shook Celeborn's hand as they laughed at the remark and embraced.

'I was given an invitation when you left… I thought I would accept it.'

Celeborn stared at him for a moment.

'I simply cannot believe it. You, away from Imladris, all the way here.'

They walked into the direction of the wooden houses. It was as Celeborn continued speaking to him, that Elrond's eyes wandered over the grassy plain, knowing the sea lay somewhere beyond. But it was not the sea he looked for. He tried to remember what Celeborn had just asked him, but couldn't.

'I'm sorry, I did not quite catch that.'

'You seem preoccupied.'

Before Elrond could answer, a call came from a side he had not scanned yet.

Celeborn smiled at the young woman that came running, flushed as she arrived.

'I told you, father, I _knew_ he would come.'

Celeborn smiled weakly and turned to Elrond.

'She actually did.'

Elrond smiled at Celebrían, not sure if it was the right way of reacting.

It was at that moment that Elrond unexpectedly was able to recall what Celeborn had asked him. He clasped the reign of his horse under his arm and started to pull off his other glove.

'However much I would like this to be a social call, I came because of more serious matters. Word came to us of Nine Riders.'

_I need not have come personally, though, but Celeborn, do not hold it against me, mellon-iaur…_

'Dressed in black and taking shadow with them… Yes, we heard that too.' Celeborn said, interrupting his stream of thought.

Celebrían looked at them as she walked along.

'Does Gil-galad suppose these are the Bearers of the Nine Rings of Men?' Celeborn continued.

'If he does, I share that view with him.' Elrond said distantly. 'It is told that of the nine Sauron ensnared with those rings, three were great Númenórean lords. But only time shall reveal if that is the truth, I fear…'

Celeborn looked at his daughter and back at Elrond.

'She loves to listen as much as you love to recount…'

Elrond smiled broadly, bowing his head and watching his feet for a moment.

'Perhaps I shall, later.'

'Yes, first you must come and see Galadriel. And eat, my friend.'

Elrond let it wash over him with silence, his heart pounding and the madness of it all becoming more palpable still. At least to him.

When he met Galadriel, who seemed to be waiting for them at a small woodland area, just short of the sandy dunes, he feared the Lady would read his heart without difficulty. Yet if she did, it was veiled well, as she gave him a convivial smile and only touched his face before welcoming him.

'Sometimes there are visions that seem so far-fetched that we fear what else will happen when they come true.'

Elrond was unsure if she meant his coming to Edhellond, or the appearance of the Nine, the two closely linked in his mind. He did not voice his doubt

'Before I shall hold council with Gil-galad, I wished to know your mind. About the Nine Riders…'

Galadriel smiled mystifyingly.

'You ask me to tell you that which you are already aware of yourself.'

'I merely seek the council of one who sees more than most.'

Again a smile, but this one more forbearing.

'And even though I am no counsellor, I believe you can tell the High-king that I fear it is true. If that is indeed wherefore you came.'

As her eyes caught his, Elrond had a hard time to keep his face without expression. Yet he could not look away. At last Galadriel released him with a smile. 'You surely will not go in haste away, not without staying for a while, nor without having seen the sea? You have travelled long to reach it.'

'Gladly I will stay awhile. Though I intend to leave in no more than a week.' He replied, with a bow of the head.

'Those seven days you will be welcome. But do not linger now, refresh yourselves.' She motioned to Elrond's companions, only then returning to him. 'And we shall welcome you as befits the Lord of Imladris and his fellow travellers.'

The humble splendour of this small haven community, which was situated just outside Edhellond, did perhaps not match Lórien's or Imladris's magnificence in many ways, but Elrond felt oddly comfortable as he sat down at the table and listened to the stories that were told by other guests. Like they had at Lórien, Galadriel and Celeborn seemed to gather many Elves around them here as well.

They sat so until sundown, when Celebrían touched his shoulder.

'I am going to see the sunset by the sea… If you wish to, join me. You could tell me about your journey.'

'It would be a privilege, my Lady.'

Like others, they left the table and wandered off. If he had never reached the sea Elrond would have been contented still.

Celeborn and Galadriel stood watching as the two people walked out of even Elvish sight and Galadriel rested her head on her husband's shoulder.

'I fear it shall take many years yet… He feels he cannot yet give her what she deserves…'

'It will turn out right.'

'Still there is something which I cannot see clearly… Perhaps nothing.'

Celeborn kissed her and took her hand, his eyes lingering in the distance before turning away.

'This place reminds me of being young, it reminds me of seeing the sea at Forlond.'

'Do you miss Imladris?' Celebrían asked, looking at him sideways, as they walked up the green hill toward the top.

'Yes.' Elrond answered immediately, making her laugh at the abruptness of the reply. He looked at her and grinned.

'I really do.'

'My father didn't believe me when I said you would come. But here you are.'

Elrond gave her a smile and locked his gaze onto the horizon, which appeared as they came closer to the top.

'So it seems.'

They were not alone walking up the hill, but all seemed to respect their discretion. The view was like the ones he had seen in his youth, but different. Elrond wasn't sure if after all those years it was him or simply because this was another part of Middle-earth, another sea. Likely it was both… When he watched Celebrían, dressed in white, the setting sun shining on her hair, he became aware of a sudden feeling of desire. A yearning to put his hand through that hair, of wanting to protect her, offer her a safe place, a safe world. And straight away came the realisation that he wasn't quite in the right position to offer her any of that. While Sauron still lived within the bounds of Middle-earth, possessing the One Ring, the Elven ring he held would stay subject of an incessant hunt. And Imladris could easily become the target of a siege once again; Sauron would be eager to take his revenge after the defeat over five hundred years ago.

But how much safer was she here, with Galadriel, who possessed one of the rings as well? Of the three, she was closest to Mordor.

_Are you certain you are not trying to find an excuse?_

Celebrían looked up at him.

'Do you think the appearance of the Nine Riders is an indication that Sauron is returning?'

Elrond shrugged off his earlier thoughts.

'They have been spotted, but only near Mordor. It is a sign, but it could take many years before he has gained enough strength. Gil-galad has more worries about the state of things in Númenor.'

'Since the defeat of Sauron, the Kings of Númenor seem to have changed their view towards the Eldar. Against us.'

'Tar-Atanamir's grandfather was already envious, his gaze was more westward than to the east. For the Men of Númenor seem to think there is no greater gift than immortality. But compared to his son and grandson, he was a good man.'

Elrond knew she was waiting for him to press on, hoping he would give in to the urge of explaining. Celeborn had been right: she loved to hear the stories as much as he loved to tell them. He pointed to the rocky beach below, but did not need to voice his question.

'I know a way down nearby,' she said, catching his elbow and gently making him walk into the direction she wanted to go, in more ways than one. 'Tell me more.'

He smiled and yielded, clearing his throat before starting.

'Since the beginning of the line of the Númenórean Kings, it has been the custom of the Rulers to take their titles in Quenya, that being the noblest tongue of the world. And though the ways of Men can be capricious, this tradition is still honoured, a tribute to the choice of the Half-Elven, which Elros made before he became Tar-Minyatur. But over the long years that have since passed, some began to grow envious of the things that were beyond their grasp. And it was said that Tar-Ciryatan disrespected his father, and his desires to cooperate with the Eldar, when he ascended the throne. Taking the Sceptre of Andúnie* by force. He built a great fleet and oppressed the men of Middle-earth, greedy of wealth. Many believe it was then that the Shadow came first upon the bliss of Númenor.'

Elrond looked at Celebrían, who walked beside him on the beach. 'His son, Tar-Atanamir, proves much like his father, and in these early years there is much that is cause for worry. He speaks openly against the ban of the Valar, but at least for now does not dare defy them.'

'What do you predict will happen?' Celebrían asked, looking differently at the sea that, far more northerly, housed the island Elrond now spoke of.

He shook his head.

'I find it hard to predict. They are a powerful and wise people. But it depends on the man who leads them, and at this moment, it lacks perspective on that front.'

'How much of your brother do you recognise in them?' Celebrían asked.

Elrond raised his eyebrows with an almost silent sigh.

'Not as much as I would wish…'

'When Atanamir came to Imladris, I tried to detect if he resembled you, physically and characteristically. But I wasn't very successful.'

'I have long given up,' Elrond said, even if it wasn't exactly true. He still watched for any likeness, but had given up hope to ever recognising his brother in the face of one of his descendants.

'Do you ever regret your choice?'

As he made sure that they were safely away from the waterline, so they would not get their feet wet, Elrond pretended to consider the question. In his mind he had often contemplated it, always arriving at the same answer.

'No.'

_But does it matter if our feet get wet?_ he wondered absently.

Celebrían noticed his drifting, but said nothing.

It was almost dark when they returned through the dunes.

The house, if it could be called that, since it merely had an elaborate roof and ornately carved walls conveniently placed as windshields, was scarcely lighted.

'I wish you a good night, Lady Celebrían,' he said softly.

'May your first night here be a peaceful one, Master Elrond,' she whispered back.

They headed off in alternate directions, not looking back.

Arriving in his allotted room Elrond did not miss the luxuries he would have had in his own, back at Imladris. For the first time since arriving he felt the tiredness of journeying. The bed was certainly an improvement from half-dozing on a horse or on a damp forest floor. He fell asleep in a moment.

Once it became known that visitors from Imladris had arrived, many made their way to the place where Galadriel and Celeborn resided. And even if most suspected these were no ordinary visitors, no one raised questions, simply calling them herdir. And indeed, the only mention of these visitors that can be found, comes from the diary of an old land-bound sailor, which states that: 'the leader of the visitors was an apt storyteller, his voice clear and dignified, as of someone who speaks often of the olden days.' That, and a mention of the fact that the Lady Celebrían, who usually went on excursions of the nearby coast during the day, spent the entire week at home, not missing a word.

Yet after six days of sitting near, not too near, but close enough to hear his voice and carefully observe the mannerisms she had grown to like, Celebrían wished she had had more time with the Lord of Imladris, time alone, like on that first night.

He had been busy through the day, packing up gear and talking with her parents, last conversations about pressing matters, she assumed. But now she was unable to find him, and now simply sat on a higher part of the hill, her arms around her legs, watching the sun slowly travelling towards the horizon.

'Do you mind if I join you?'

Celebrían glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Elrond, for he it was that had spoken to her.

'I was afraid you would spend your last night talking, instead of seeing the last sun-set over the sea.'

'I am touched,' Elrond teased, sitting down next to her, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands. 'But I am glad I came.'

'Will you go to Lindon without delay?'

He shook his head.

'I plan to return to Imladris and leave from there.'

'Undoubtedly with a more impressive following.'

'The road from Imladris to Lindon is considered safer than the one leading here.'

'One would say that for that reason alone you should have taken a larger following here.'

'Not if one wanted to stay unobserved.'

Celebrían turned away and looked at the sky again.

'Please do not patronise me, as if I were a child.'

'I did not intend to, my Lady.'

Celebrían sighed.

'I am sure you did not, Master Elrond.' Her use of his title was retribution for his use of hers, for she felt it further belittled her. They had talked around titles when together before, but now this would probably end.

To her surprise Elrond changed his position and looked at her intently.

'Let us not… I sincerely apologise for speaking to you in such a way…' Celebrían glimpsed back at him. Elrond seemed serious when he continued. 'Would you mind if we stopped using those titles? At least in private?'

She smiled gently.

'I would have to get into the habit of it.

Elrond held out a hand, inviting Celebrían to lay her hand into his.

When she did, a little hesitant, blushing, and hoping it blended in with the colourful light of the setting sun, he gave her the most enchanting of smiles.

Celebrían was unable to describe all the feelings that went through her body; besides the fluttering in her stomach, the warmth of his hand travelled up to her face and ears. It was all encompassing.

Simultaneously they let their hands go and pulled back. Elrond looked up at the darkening sky.

'Eärendil's star will appear soon.'

'Do you wish to wait for it?' Celebrían asked him.

Elrond nodded.

'Unless you wish to go.'

Celebrían shook her head and sat back, looking for the same star. She had experienced before, that Elrond answered most of her questions very straightforwardly. Her mother had often reprimanded her for asking too personal questions. But her mother was not here, and he didn't seem to mind.

_And we have to talk of something._

'Do you remember your parents?'

Elrond was quiet for a long while, and Celebrían considered that his silence could mean he did not want to answer. As she contemplated asking it again, for perhaps he had not heard her, he spoke softly.

'I sometimes think I should remember, and even that I do… But I cannot even remember my mother's face. Sometimes I imagine I can hear her voice, in my mind. Just out of reach, like an answer to the mysteries of the world, I can never catch it…'

Celebrían watched him, his eyes fixed on the sky. He raised his arm and pointed upwards.

'There it is. Right there.'

Watching and easily discerning the brightest beacon in the night sky, she whispered:

'Eärendil sailing the heavens in his ship, the Silmaril shining on his forehead.'

Elrond nodded, not taking his eyes off the darkness high above.

How she found the courage, Celebrían did not know, but she leant towards him and fleetingly pressed her lips against his cheek, before getting up and making her way downhill, leaving Elrond sitting there.

She waited for him to return, making sure he could not see her if and when he did. But he did not come. Celebrían finally gave up and made her way back to her room. She slept badly that night, tossing and turning, the turmoil in her stomach never resting.

The next morning she was awake well before dawn, already hearing voices outside, the sounds of horses waiting. Outside she saw most of his fellow travellers, but not Elrond himself. Her father came up from behind.

'I believe Master Elrond has been misplaced.'

Celebrían smiled hearing her father's amused tone.

'Shall I see if I can find him?' she asked.

Galadriel joined them and smiled at her daughter.

'He might be where you left him yesterevening.'

Celebrían smiled and began running before her flushed face became too obvious.

Halfway up the hill, where they had parted the night before, she found Elrond, walking into the direction of the house. Wide awake and with a dreamy expression on his features.

'They are leaving… I thought… Did you stay here all night?' Celebrían asked as she slowed down and met up with him.

Elrond nodded slowly.

'I believe I was preoccupied.'

'I am sorry,' she offered. He looked at her strangely.

'There is nothing to be sorry about.' He caught her hand for a moment. 'I simply wish to thank you for a… striking evening.'

Celebrían looked into his clear grey eyes and guessed the unspoken words.

'You have to go…'

'I shall visit when I have an opportunity,' he added, turning around.

When she stayed where she was he stopped for a moment.

'You are not coming.'

'It would be awkward,' she answered, afraid to meet his eye.

He raised his hand for a moment as a gesture of goodbye.

'Good journey,' Celebrían called after him. But he did not turn as he started a sprint, back to the house, back to Imladris.

Elrond pressed the company unremorsefully, travelling back to Imladris. There was a surge of energy that ricocheted through his body and it made him nervous. The only way he could forget it was to push on.

Instead of in fourteen days, they entered the valley ten days after leaving Edhellond and because Elrond refused to slow down, word of their return had not yet reached the Last Homely House when they reached the stables.

Throwing his horse's rein over a beam for an attendant to take care of it, he made way for his chambers. Once there he stormed in, and pulling off his travel cloak, ended up on the balcony, overlooking the valley that usually gave him so much peace. He rested his hands on the cold stone of the handrail, and drew a deep breath.

'It is not often that I find my vice-regent missing, especially not for over a month.'

Elrond could recognise that voice in his sleep. He turned around.

'My Lord Gil-galad…'

Gil-galad sat peacefully in a chair on the balcony, his booted feet resting on the same stone ridge Elrond had sought for support just moments ago.

'Glorfindel was not very willing to tell me where you were… Would you like me to guess?'

'Not really,' Elrond mumbled, in an extraordinary lapse of protocol.

Gil-galad smiled broadly.

'You are aware that such an answer only makes me more curious?'

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Úlairi is another name for the Nazgûl, the Ring-wraiths

Ered Nimrais is Sindarin for the Mountains of the White Horns

mellon-iaur literally means 'friend-old' in Sindarin

herdir is Sindarin for master or lord

the Sceptre of Andúnie would later be called the Sceptre of Annúminas, which would be founded by Elendil in 3320 of the Second Age

Eärendil's star the brightest star in the Western sky, commonly considered to be Venus

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	4. A Great Darkness...

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Seeing the desolation of the world, Sauron said in his heart that the Valar, having overthrown Morgoth, had again forgotten Middle-earth; and his pride grew apace. He looked with hatred on the Eldar, and he feared the Men of Númenor who came back at whiles in their ships to the shores of Middle-earth; but for long he dissembled his mind and concealed the dark designs that he shaped in his heart._  
**From The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 4 A great Darkness…**

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Glorfindel noticed that after Elrond's return, the usually amiable relationship between the Lord of Imladris and the Lord of Lindon had taken a different form. With Elrond's flat-out refusal to inform the High-king of his whereabouts during the month of absence, and Gil-galad's endless mock persistence on the subject, Glorfindel was unsure on who would emerge victorious in the end.

Yet, he suspected it amused Elrond as much as Gil-galad, both playing along with the private, and public, remarks.

They would be discussing Númenor, which seemed to be the subject of most of their discussions nowadays, and with all the counsellors around, the High-king would imply something, and Elrond would bestow a look on him, and continue the meeting, ignoring the remark.

It was after a lengthy stay, that Gil-galad left for Lindon again. After putting his foot in the stirrup and mounting, he had looked down at his vice-regent.

'You will be here when I visit next time, will you not?'

Elrond had grinned broadly.

'I cannot promise anything.'

'Elbereth help us.' Gil-galad had exclaimed, before spurring his horse and riding off, his lords following.

A century later, finally meeting in the flesh again, the matter was taken up without delay, the years proving no impediment for Elvish memory.

Gil-galad, dismounting with a groan, bowed to Elrond, who returned the civility.

'I am glad to find you at home, Master Elrond. Recently returned?'

Elrond, not having left Imladris for more than a couple of days all those years, pursed his lips in an attempt to hide his broadening smile.

'Right on time, apparently.'

They embraced and Gil-galad sounded another grunt.

'I've sat on chairs in councils too long, my friend. I've grown unaccustomed to the saddle.'

Elrond grinned and accompanied him inside. There he poured Gil-galad a cup of wine, which was gratefully accepted. An attendant brought in some fruit and they both sat down. 'How was your journey?'

Gil-galad tasted some sugared fruit, one of Imladris's famed specialties.

'Wet…'

Elrond smirked. The autumns in Eriador were indeed that, he agreed silently, as he got on his feet again and walked into the hallway, where he had noticed a messenger waiting. Gil-galad leant forward and waited if the message was for him, or Imladris. As Elrond returned after a short exchange, he sat back again.

'The Lord and Lady of Lórien send word of their imminent arrival.'

'Really?' Gil-galad asked, his eyes lighting up. 'That might explain the extremely good mood I find you in.' A mischievous smile appeared on his face, but he hid it as Elrond rested his gaze on him. 'And when is this to happen?'

'Within two hours,' Elrond answered, his thoughts gliding somewhere else.

'I better freshen up.' Gil-galad said, getting on his feet and taking some more of the sugared fruit as he wandered out of the room, well aware where his rooms would be; the same place as always.

Moving to the large balcony which looked out over the valley, Elrond did the only thing he could now. He waited.

When Glorfindel entered to tell him the party had passed the last guarding post of the valley, they walked down together, joined by Gil-galad and Erestor on their way, who seemed to be discussing Númenórean king Tar-Telemmaite's love of silver. Elrond listened only half-heartedly.

He simply watched the riders come up the road. Then his heart jumped.

Her cheekbones seemed a little more pronounced than they had been when they had last seen each other. Her eyes were brighter, something which he hadn't considered to be possible. Celebrían had been enchanting before, but now she was impressive as well; her eyes piercing, her stature that of a lady, nobility. A green gem, caught in the silver image of an eagle hung around her neck.

_She has grown into her name_, Elrond mused. Together with Gil-galad, he walked towards her horse and presented his hand to help her dismount.

Though he saw Elrond's offer, Gil-galad raised his as well and seemed pleased when Celebrían chose Elrond's without hesitation.

'I see we fall in with honoured guests,' Celeborn called over as he dismounted.

'If you had ridden only a little faster, I could have used that line instead.' Gil-galad smiled as they greeted each other. 'But you have only brought one Lady of Lórien, unless I am much mistaken?'

'Galadriel stayed in Edhellond, but sends her warmest greetings to Imladris and its Master. And to the High-king as well, I guarantee you.'

Celeborn and Elrond embraced.

'There is no need to assure us of that. It is good to see you,' Elrond said.

'It has been too long already. We thought you might visit again, but when the years passed, we decided that if we wanted to see you, we would have to come ourselves. We made the journey to Lórien initially, but there I was… convinced…' Celeborn looked at Celebrían for a moment, '…that we could as well travel further before returning south.'

'And right she was,' Gil-galad said, nodding at Celebrían. 'For we only seem to meet in times of need.'

Celebrían looked at Elrond, who had turned towards her again.

'It seemed rude not to visit when we were so near.'

Elrond smiled contentedly. 'You are welcome, of course, and I invite you to stay as long as you please. Let me show you to your quarters.'

He offered Celebrían his elbow, a less formal escort than the last time she was at Imladris, and turned to see if Celeborn followed. Gil-galad stayed at the side of the Lord of Lórien as they trailed behind.

'Did I understand correctly, when you said Master Elrond had visited you? You were at Lórien I presume?'

'You understood perfectly, except for the part of it being Lórien.'

'He came to Edhellond?' Gil-galad asked. 'When would this have been?' he added, the tone in his voice a little too interested.

'Right after the first report of the Nazgûl arrived at Imladris, I believe. That was the reason of his visit, if I recall correctly.'

'You do not say.' Gil-galad replied, grinning, knowing Elrond had heard every word.

Elrond seemed to ignore the remark, smiling down at Celebrían.

'I am glad you persuaded your father.'

'So am I,' she replied, looking back, a confidence in her eyes he had not seen before.

Escorting Celebrían and Celeborn to the rooms that had been made ready not long ago, Elrond was quick to depart when his guests had entered.

But not quick enough, as Gil-galad gave him a knowing glance, making his way into the other direction.

Shrugging off an awkward feeling, Elrond made way for his study, where Erestor was waiting, papers in his arms, ready to get to work.

As they sat down at the large table, Elrond began reading and listening; a routine that went on every day.

The subjects were as various as one could imagine; from political issues, like the maintaining of relations with the nearest settlements, to more domestic matters, for example the construction of a new wing, or the replacement of a statue in one of the gardens. Often they would finish late in the afternoon, but even though this morning had been more eventful than usual, the last bundle of papers was completed shortly before lunchtime. Elrond sat back and rubbed his eyes, a little drowsy from concentrating intensely. Erestor looked at him.

'Surely you will be going to lunch?'

Elrond nodded thoughtfully.

'I expect Glorfindel has asked for a table to be set in the upstairs dining room, now that we have so many guests.'

'I shall go and put these away,' Erestor said, as he got on his feet and collected the papers, 'and meet you there?'

Elrond nodded again, and sitting back, allowed his mind to recapitulate over some the worrying reports coming from Númenor.

As Erestor exited, Glorfindel, his step quick and light, entered. Finding Elrond so pensive, his face took on an inquiring expression.

'Is something the matter?'

Elrond, his hand under his chin, gave Glorfindel a reassuring look.

'Nothing that needs immediate attention.'

Gil-galad's voice could be heard from afar, talking pleasantly about one thing or the other, continuing when Glorfindel and Elrond entered. Elrond sat down at the head of the table, Gil-galad sitting on the other side, Celebrían on his right, her father next to her. Glorfindel took his place on Elrond's left side. Erestor was the last to arrive and joined them hurriedly so they could start.

Gil-galad moved his attention to Elrond.

'You have attended to your obligations?'

'Indeed we have.' Elrond answered, pouring some juice into his glass.

'Then perhaps you can help with some predicament we find ourselves in.'

'I shall try,' Elrond answered, as he was offered some bread by an attendant.

'You have heard of Tar-Telemmaite's search for wealth?'

Elrond nodded thoughtfully as he chewed.

'I heard you and Erestor discuss it quite vividly this morning. You fear that this will further distance Númenor from Lindon and the Elves?'

'They take no heed when we warn them not to tyrannize the men of Middle-earth. And even refuse to visit the Hallow of Eru at the proper times. The King's Men do no longer teach their children the Elven-tongues. It is indeed my fear that in time, they will forbid the Elven tongues completely. And ban us from visiting Númenor altogether.'

Elrond watched Gil-galad sit back. He put down his knife.

'If you ask if I know of some way to counter this; we have already tried many times, and it alarms me that it only seems to make them more hostile still.'

Gil-galad weakly smiled, then turned to Celebrían.

'You see, my Lady, it is not that we need the Númenóreans, but more that we do not wish to see Númenor become a haven for Darkness.'

Celebrían smiled.

'You say we do not need the Númenóreans, my Lord, but it seems they came in handy when we needed to drive Sauron out of Eriador.'

Elrond smiled amusedly at Gil-galad, waiting for a reply.

'That they did, but those were different times… A different king, I am sorry to say,' the High-king returned. Celebrían would not end it so easily.

'If we listen to the many tales that are told about the creation, we cannot deny that the Firstborn and the Followers are closely linked. I believe we should fear the downfall of Númenor because, in the end, it will mean our own downfall. But I also agree with Master Elrond; likely they will not listen. Our hope lies with the Faithful.'

'Never a truer word said,' Glorfindel mused. 'Because one can predict, it will start with simply forbidding our people entrance. Trading will be more difficult to prohibit, since they cannot be entirely self-sufficient. But what I mean is that, eventually, the Lords of the West are next. Númenor will break with the Eldar, before they do with the Valar.'

'And then what?' Gil-galad said softly. If it was a question, no one answered.

'I foresee that from something good, shall come forth a great darkness,' Elrond said after a while, his eyes far away. Gil-galad looked at him, painfully aware of the overall accuracy of his vice-regent's predictions.

'If that is so, let us hope that through darkness we shall come to the light.'

Silence hung over the table once again.

Celeborn emptied his glass.

'So… Are we to sit here and tell sad stories, waiting for them to happen?'

Gil-galad laughed.

Elrond slowly got on his feet.

'Well, you are all welcome to do just that, but I have other plans.'

He offered his arm to Celebrían and they departed the room.

Gil-galad flashed a look, first to Celeborn, then to Glorfindel and Erestor.

'Window?'

The four of them were on their feet and at the window as quickly as they could manage. Quite an amusing sight, if anyone had seen.

Elrond and Celebrían walked out of the hall and over the soft grass into the gardens. Elrond bent towards her.

'Are they watching?'

Celebrían turned around cautiously and glimpsed over her shoulder.

'They are actually in the window.'

'Really?' Elrond replied amused, now also glancing around. The four Elves at the window tried to step back, resulting in some stumbling and laughter. Elrond chuckled and listened to Celebrían's giggle. 'Food for thought…'

Turning a corner she looked up at him.

'So, where are you taking me?'

'Well…' he started, 'my decision was a little impulsive, I must confess. Which leaves us with… no real destination.'

Celebrían grinned.

'Not a thing I would expect one to admit.'

Elrond touted his lips in amusement.

'Meanwhile, permit me to ask you a question.'

'I believe that can be allowed.'

Elrond narrowed his eyes as he looked over the edge of the hanging garden, over the valley.

'Promise me you will leave Edhellond, if you hear of troops crossing the Anduin.'

'Do you really think there will be new wars?' she asked him, softly.

Elrond took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.'Yes… I cannot deny it.'

'I know you feel a responsibility to bring that to an end first.'

Elrond looked at her, a little taken aback, before remembering this was Galadriel's daughter walking alongside him.

Celebrían smiled teasingly. 'Do not imagine I am saying I will be waiting for you.'

He shook his head and returned a similar smile. 'I wouldn't dare. But you promise?'

'I expect my father would send me to Lindon, if such a thing were to happen.'

Elrond looked at her.'Under no circumstance go to Lórien, or come here.'

Celebrían looked up at him, seeing how serious he had gotten on this subject.'I promise.'

'There will be little time, if such a thing happens. But they will try and catch Pelargir first before crossing.'

Celebrían placed her hand on his arm.'Do not worry about me.'

It was as they sat down on a stone bench, that Elrond mentioned the gem hanging on a delicate silver chain around Celebrían's neck.

'I recognise Celebrimbor's workmanship.'

Celebrían held it between her fingers for a moment.

'My mother gave it to me, some time ago. She told me that of Celebrimbor's work, only the Three Rings surpass it. It is called the Elessar. Quite stunning isn't it?'

'Yes.' Elrond replied, thinking for a moment and adding, silently:_ But not as stunning as you._

As Celebrían looked up, he was afraid she had caught his mental comment. Then the moment passed and she began talking about the Elf-friends she had met in Pelargir.

It was after he had escorted Celebrían back to her rooms; when the feast held in honour of the High-king and the Lord of Lórien had ended, that Elrond met Celeborn in the covered passage nearby.

They stood quietly looking over the valley, listening to the sounds of the night, cicadas chirping loudly, some late birds attempting a last tune before retiring.

'I heard Oropher has chosen you as my successor, since he cannot complain to me anymore.' Celeborn said, a smile on his face.

Elrond smiled grimly.

'A dubious honour… One of the reasons I would prefer you back at Lórien.'

Celeborn shook his head.

'It is not likely that Galadriel will want to return there, not before… We finished making the last necessary preparations to defend Lórien when Sauron would cross the Anduin, if such a time comes. I do not intend to return until it is brought to an end.'

'What does she see?' Elrond asked, his eyes set on some point far away.

'She says it can go either way… And that it will take quite some years yet. There are designs that go beyond our understanding… But what do you see?'

Elrond kept his head still, his eyes fixed, and for a moment Celeborn thought the Master of Imladris had not heard him. Then Elrond spoke, his voice oddly unfamiliar.

'Gil-galad asked me if we are preparing for the prophesied battle…'

'Do you see Dagor Dagorath?'

Elrond seemed not to have heard Celeborn's second remark, or ignored it.

'I answered him we are not the light, and though Sauron is darkness, he is not Melkor awakened.'

'Did you see victory?'

'I saw death,' Elrond answered almost whispering under his breath.

They both were silent until it was Elrond who spoke again, his tone of voice back to normal.

'Do not stay at Edhellond, Celeborn, if Galadriel seeks the sea, ask her if she would not rather go to Lindon… Those who have the gift so strongly, often are unconscious to their own fates…' Elrond turned towards him with a sigh. 'I beg of you…'

Celeborn nodded slowly.

'I will take it up with her.'

'Thank you.' Elrond stepped back, folding his hands before him, moving on.

'Goodnight.'

Celeborn and Celebrían and their fellow travellers stayed for three months.

Three months in which Elrond and Celebrían shared most of their time together; she even sat in his library when he was working in the morning. There were many conversations about the future of Middle-earth, of Númenor, but never their future.

Yet all around them, people saw and recognised what was growing between the two. Gil-galad had ceased his teasing, dropping the subject of Elrond's earlier absence from every conversation. Sometimes a flash on the High-king's face could be distinguished, when he had to restrain himself from inserting an amusing remark at the expense of his vice-regent's feelings.

On the morning of their departure Celebrían waited for a private moment with Elrond in the garden outside his rooms.

'It shall be a long time before we meet again,' she predicted with a smile.

'Just remember you are always welcome here, as long as peace remains,' Elrond returned. 'I have a gift I hope you shall accept,' he added, handing her a small volume. 'It holds stories and poetry, a collection of my personal favourites. I gathered them over the years. You will find something of interest in it, I believe, the story of the first Elessar, the Stone of Eärendil.'

Celebrían opened the green booklet, the covers coated in green velvet, and recognised Elrond's own ornate handwriting, in dark ink.

'I will gladly accept it…' She raised her head. 'But I have nothing to give in return.'

'Promise me to write. I would like to continue our discussions. There are enough messengers that travel between Edhellond and Imladris.'

Celebrían smiled, and catching the collar of his tunic pulled him closer, kissing him on the lips briefly. It was difficult to tell in what way the kiss was meant, but it made Elrond glow. Celebrían pretended not to notice.

'Thank you. I will keep it close.'

Indeed many years passed.

In Edhellond, Celebrían waited for messengers to bring letters, which usually bore no name on the envelope. She always hoped, despite her better judgement, that one would announce his coming. In Imladris, Elrond in turn, waited for the same, measuring the time until their meeting by the rule of Númenórean kings.

After Tar-Telemmaite came Tar-Vanimelde, the queen that left ruling to her younger husband, finding more pleasure in dance and music. Her husband withheld the Sceptre from their son. But when Tar-Alcarin eventually began his rule, after winning many lands along the coast of Middle Earth in his youth, he awoke the hatred of Sauron. It was his son, Ar-Belyagar, who was the first King to take the Sceptre with an Andunic name, banishing the Elven-tongues from being used or taught.

Four kings followed, all proud and unbending.

It was when Inzilbêth, daughter of Lindórië of the House of Andúnië, was taken to wife by Ar-Gimilzôr, the Eldar began to regain hope. For those of the House of Andúnië were of old Elf-friends, and the King's oldest son, Inziladûn, took after his mother. Rather would Ar-Gimilzôr have yielded the sceptre to his younger son Gimilkhâd, who was like his father, but the laws did not allow it.

So when Inziladûn accepted the Sceptre, he took his title in the Elven-tongue of old, and called himself Tar-Palantir*. He was remorseful for the acts of the Kings before him and renewed the ties with the Eldar and The Lords of the West. He brought peace to the Faithful for a while, going once more to the Hallow of Eru upon the Meneltarma at the appointed times. He tended the White Tree with honour, and prophesised that when the tree perished, also the line of Kings would come to its end.

Yet his atonement came too late. The Valar were angered with the insolence of his fathers. Insolence the larger part of the Númenórean people still held deep in their hearts. And as Gimilkhâd opposed him openly, and in secret even more, the days of Tar-Palantir became filled with grief, as Civil War unfolded in Númenor.

It was two years short of his two hundredth year, an early death for one of Elros's line, even in its waning, that Gimilkhâd died. And Pharazôn, his son, a renowned leader in the wars with the coastlands of Middle-earth, hearing of his father's death, returned to Númenor, winning the hearts of the people.

Then, weary of grief, Tar-Palantir died also. His daughter and only child Míriel took the Sceptre by right, but was forced into marriage by Pharazôn, against the law of Númenor, which did not permit marriage of such close kin. He usurped the throne.

From light indeed, seemed to have come great Darkness.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

  
_She has grown into her name_. = Celebrían means 'silver queen'

In Appendix A, A Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Arwen is referred to as Lady of Imladris and Lórien, so I assume her mother was known as Lady of Lórien as well.

the Faithful = the Elf-friends

Dagor Dagorath = a prophesied final battle between Light and Darkness when Manwë would descend from the Mountain upon the return of Melkor.

Palantir = 'he who looks far'

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	5. The Courtyards of Lindon

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Now Elendil and Gil-galad took counsel together, for they perceived that Sauron would grow too strong and would overcome all his enemies one by one, if they did not unite against him._  
**From the Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 5 The Courtyards of Lindon**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

'Who goes there?' came a call, accompanied by the sound of someone in armour moving.

'The Lord of Imladris, Elrond son of Eärendil.'

'Imladris?'

'Rivendell,' explained a voice from behind. 'Let him pass.' Elrond turned around to see who the voice belonged to.

A man, a Númenórean, no doubt, passed the Elves of Elrond's guard.

For a moment he thought he was simply day-dreaming.

For one moment he thought it was his brother who appeared from the shadows of the night-time Palace. The next moment he realised he was mistaken.

'High-king Gil-galad said you might be arriving.'

Elrond looked inquiringly at the Man.

'You are one of Elendil's sons.'

'Indeed.' The Man approached the Elf and both closely examined each other.

'Isildur…' A voice came from inside the room Elrond had wanted to enter. 'Stop hindering my Vice-regent and let him come in.'

Isildur stepped back to let Elrond pass; their eyes lingering on each other with a strange recognition. Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in Gil-galad's study. For a moment Elrond was filled with a feeling of lost times. He recalled the many hours he spent here: reading, studying, discussing…

'I fear you have left your mindfulness in the hall outside, Master Elrond.'

Gil-galad was bent over papers and looked on to where Elrond was standing.

'Would this have anything to do with a certain, far-removed, great-nephew you met just now?' he added, pointing at a chair near the desk.

Elrond sat down and folded his hands.

'He is the first of the line that…'

'He does rather resemble Elros,' Gil-galad said, turning a page of a leaflet. He finished reading and put it away, sitting back and rubbing his neck, which had gone a little stiff.

'I fear you have missed the banquet, but there are still a lot of people in the Great Hall. If you want to go…'

Elrond shrugged.

'Not particularly.'

'Would you join me if I went?'

'Of course, my Lord.'

Gil-galad pushed back his chair and stretched before slipping on robes over his trousers and tunic. Placing his hands behind his back, Gil-galad walked beside Elrond; High King and Vice Regent making their way to the Great Hall.

Elrond wondered when he had last seen the High King so sombre. One explanation could be Lindon itself; Elrond always suspected Gil-galad saw Imladris as a retreat, a place where he could forget some of his responsibilities. Here he needed to be king. Secondly, the fact that war was finally coming closer likely worried him as well.

'…Meneltarma was utterly deserted in those days; not even the Dark Lord dared to desecrate that high place. The King would allow no one, upon penalty of death, to ascend to it. Especially not those of the Faithful who still kept Ilúvatar in their hearts. The Dark Lord had pleaded with the King…' Isildur stepped towards the children sitting besides their parents, and raised his hand, making it a claw, changing his voice to a low and deep growl. 'Cut down the White Tree, Nimloth the Fair.' and continued, his voice normal again. '…for it was a memorial of the Eldar and the light of Valinor.'

There he stopped for a moment and watched Gil-galad and Elrond silently enter and sit down, before he continued.

'But the King would hear nothing of it at first, because he believed that the fortunes of his house were connected to the Tree, as his uncle, Tar-Palantir had predicted. He hated the Eldar and the Valar, but still clung to an echo of the old alliance of Númenor. And Amandil, my grandfather, heard of the Dark Lord's evil purpose, and feared that in the end Sauron would convince the King. So I said nothing and went to where the tree stood, dark and without leaves. There I took the only fruit that hung on its branches and tried to get away; but the guards discovered me, and I had to fight myself out to escape. Luckily they did not recognise me, because I wore a dark cloak. I delivered the fruit to my grandfather and collapsed, because of my wounds. Amandil blessed the fruit and planted it. When it sprouted in the spring, and only then, my wounds troubled me no more.'

Elrond looked at Gil-galad, as applause rose in the Great Hall.

'Certainly a different way to tell a story.'

'There is a definite unconventionality to it,' Gil-galad smiled.

Isildur came towards Gil-galad and Elrond, giving them both a nod, turning to Elrond.

'I was told you are quite a storyteller, Lord Elrond. Will you honour us with one of your tales?'

Elrond narrowed his eyes.

'I am tired, Lord Isildur, and trust that the stories I have to tell can be told much better by others.'

Gil-galad raised his eyebrow and stretched his neck.

'There might be someone who can help you convince him, Isildur.' Gil-galad seemed to find whom he looked for and gave a short wave.

Elrond felt sure there was no one here that could convince him, but he found himself sorely mistaken.

Light-footed and dressed in a splendid elegant white, her eyes pleaded as Celebrían neared their seats. Elrond was on his feet as soon as he could, catching the hand she extended. An astonished smile moved over his lips.

'You will grant us the pleasure, won't you?' she asked him.

'What would you like to hear?' he returned, aware that Gil-galad had lured him here, knowing Celebrían would be present as well.

'Make him sing, my Lady,' Gil-galad said, his eyes shedding the tiredness, letting amusement replace it.

Celebrían shook her head, and flashed a conspiring smile into Elrond's direction.

'That, even I would not dare, my Lord. And I fear he would not listen if I did.'

Elrond smiled.

'At Rivendell…' he started, having noticed the many un-Elvish eyes on him, who would not know the Sindarin translation for his fair home, '…we have only recently heard the story you have just told, Lord Isildur. Our stories are much older, and have little action in them, I fear.'

'Tell us of the Sun and Moon,' Celebrían asked, taking the empty place beside his, and pulling him down into his seat again, waiting in anticipation.

Elrond took a deep breath and started, his voice clearer then ever.

'It was to put right the evil doings of Melkor, that Manwë bade Yavanna and Nienna to use their powers, to heal the mortal wounds of the Trees, Telperion and Laurelin. Yet using all their knowledge, their tears and singing seemed to avail to nothing, and their hope failed.'

Elrond paused and caught the eyes of listeners before continuing.

'When at last, for she was reluctant to give up, Yavanna's song faltered, Telperion bore one great flower of silver, and Laurelin a single trait of gold, before they died. Yavanna took these to Aulë, who prepared vessels to hold them and safeguard their radiance. And those, upon completion, were given to Varda, so they could be made lamps of heaven, nearer to Arda than the stars, and so outshine them. For the Valar were resolved to light up Middle-earth, to hinder the deeds of Melkor, not utterly forsaking the exiles. But also Manwë knew that the hour of the coming of Men drew closer. The Valar had made war upon Melkor to protect the Quendi. And now they feared even worse would befall the Hildor, the Aftercomers, the younger Children of Ilúvatar, for they were mortal and weaker in withstanding fear and tumult. However, it had not been revealed to Manwë where the beginning of Men would be. Therefore the Valar decided to let the light travel the whole of Middle-earth, strengthening all of the land where Men would in time come to dwell.'

Again he paused and rested his smile on the Elven children that sat listening, not far removed.

'The flower of Telperion was called the Moon, or Isil the Sheen, and the fruit of Laurelin the Sun, or Anar the Fire-golden. The Noldor name them also Rána, the Wayward, and Vása, the Heart of Fire, that awakens and consumes; because they foresaw even then that the Sun was a sign of the awakening of Men and the waning of the Elves.'

The pitch of his voice, ever changing, if only in the slightest, was enough. His hands not necessary to convene the essence of the story.

'As Telperion had been the elder of the Trees, Isil was ready first, and rose into the realm of the stars. So for a while the world had moonlight, stirring and awaking many things that had waited long. It filled the servants of Morgoth with dread, but delighted the Elves of the Outer Lands. Fingolfin ordered his trumpets to blow, beginning his march into Middle-earth; the shadows of his host long and black before them. And when Isil had crossed the heaven seven times, and was in the east; Anar rose in glory, and with it the clouds awoke, and the waters in Middle-earth.'

There Elrond ended his story, and smiled at Isildur, who was seated nearby and returned an approving grin. Gil-galad led in the applause, and somewhere a voice started to sing the Narsilion.

Elrond turned to Celebrían.

'And what of your parents?'

She tilted her head.

'My father convinced my mother to exchange the South for a more Western sea… They stay with Círdan in Mithlond. Lord Gil-galad invited me to stay here until they return.'

'Which will be soon. Within days; for I have requested their presence here when Elendil arrives from Annúminas,' Gil-galad interrupted, apparently not in the least concerned of intruding.

Elrond smiled and rose.

'Hoping I give no offence, my Lord, I will retire now. The road was long.'

Gil-galad gave him a wave and smiled.

'I trust you will be able to find your old chambers. Your guard should be around there as well.'

Elrond nodded and looked at Celebrían.

'Will you need an escort, or will you stay here?'

'No escort is needed, but I would like your company, for we have not spoken for a long time, and have much to discuss.'

Taking their leave of Gil-galad and Isildur, Elrond and Celebrían walked into the hallway.

'I would invite you to my rooms, but I do not wish to start rumours,' Elrond smiled.

'If we leave the door open, it will be fine,' Celebrían returned with a grin, and Elrond shrugged as a sign of admission, but not entirely conveying indifference.

Outside the doors that gave entrance to Elrond's chambers, two of his guards saluted him. Inside, they found Glorfindel waiting. He seemed a little uncomfortable upon noticing who Elrond had brought.

'I only wished a word, but it can wait until…'

Elrond was quick to reassure his friend.

'Under the circumstances, we need someone here to keep an eye on us, so to speak. I am not sure it would be appropriate for a Lady of Lórien to visit my chambers without another person present.'

Celebrían looked up at Elrond, a resolute smile on her lips.

'This Lady of Lórien is old enough to decide for herself what is deemed proper and what is not.' She turned to Glorfindel. 'But you are welcome to watch over the Lord of Imladris, if he considers it necessary.

Glorfindel looked at Elrond, barely able to keep a grin from his features.

Elrond nodded, mouthing silently to Glorfindel. 'Stay.'

Glorfindel smiled, pointing at a door Elrond knew led to a small study.

'I will be in the next room, leaving the door open.'

'Fine,' Elrond returned.

Celebrían waited until Glorfindel had left the room before sitting down on one of the two beautifully carved benches. She looked up at Elrond, who was still standing in the middle of the room.

'I enjoyed receiving your letters.'

'So did I yours,' he returned, finally taking off the travelling cloak he was still wearing. 'Especially the ones in which you wrote down your favourite tales.'

'Since you had given yours away, I thought I might share mine.'

Elrond smiled gently. As he stood there, it was for the first time in his life that he wanted to tell everything; all that was in his mind, in his heart, to a real person. Not to the stars, not to the Valar, but a person. How Gil-galad would have loved seeing him now.

Celebrían's eyes rested on him, and he forced himself to answer their gaze. Quite naturally she extended her hand to him and Elrond, taking some careful steps, caught it with fervour, sitting down beside her.

With her free hand she carefully swept his hair out of his face, behind his ear, and started to softly sing, the same tune she had sung a long time ago, at the bridge over the Bruinen. Then her voice abated.

'Tell me then, what haunts you so,' she whispered.

Elrond looked away.

'You know what troubles my thoughts.'

'Tell me nevertheless.'

He shook his head.

'It has all gone too fast. We have not been vigilant enough… We believed he had been destroyed when Númenor fell, and because of that, his return went unnoticed. Yet all the while he dwelled there again, in his Dark Tower, taking his time to grow his new shape, preparing his war against Men and Elves. And now he has taken Minas Ithil… He burned the White Tree Isildur had planted there.'

'Isildur was able to save a seedling… It is safe,' Celebrían whispered.

The next moment they found themselves caught up in a tight embrace that neither of them seemed willing to end.

'I wish…' Elrond said, finally pulling back and looking at her face, 'I wish it was all over.'

'In comparison to the years that have gone by already, it will be soon,' she smiled, touching his face. 'And I will wait.'

Elrond caught her hand, pressing his lips against the fingers.

'Do not now speak of such vows… For when that time arrives, I might be in the Houses of the Dead.'

Celebrían smiled weakly.

'I speak them now, if you agree not to mention of the Halls of Mandos again in my presence.'

Elrond nodded solemnly, before giving her a soothing smile.

'Now, please, leave me be, before _I _start promising things I should not.'

Celebrían departed, leaving him with an inner struggle of feelings.

Elrond sat for a while, trying to control the adrenaline that surged through his veins, before he walked to the open door of the study.

'I believe I will retire now, my friend. But thank you for waiting.'

Glorfindel nodded as Elrond turned around and entered his bedchamber, where he hoped the cool sheets would bring him some peace.

When he woke in the morning, his heart was heavier than usual. It was an hour after first light, and he was late. Washing and dressing quickly he headed off for Gil-galad's study. There he found Glorfindel and Isildur anxiously waiting. Glorfindel looked at him as he entered.

'Is something the matter?'

Elrond shook his head.

'Just a feeling, probably just nerves.'

Glorfindel's eyes delayed leaving the Lord of Imladris, but Elrond did not notice.

Gil-galad entered, three secretaries in pursuit.

'My Lords, please make yourselves at home,' he said, pointing to the chairs and taking his place behind his desk.

Isildur sat down and Glorfindel, watching Elrond stand near the fireplace with no intention to take a seat, reluctantly took a chair as well.

'I have sent word to all our allies and they all perceive that to overcome Sauron we need to unite amongst ourselves. Now Elendil has done the same with those that are under his charge, and they have also consented to gather their arms with us.'

'And what of the Dwarves?' Glorfindel asked.

'I fear that many of them will try and keep out of this, or even decide on chosing the other side. But the kindred of Durin of Moria have informed me, they will fight with us,' Gil-galad answered, his eyes flashing to Elrond, then back at Glorfindel.

'We plan to assemble at Imladris and make our plans there, if its Lord will have us.'

Elrond spun around. 

'Imladris would be honoured to receive the host of the High King and the heirs of Elros Tar-Minyatur.'

'Good,' Gil-galad concluded, writing something down on the papers before him. 'Then I propose we wait for the arrival of Elendil, and the others, at which time a meeting shall be held, after which you, Master Elrond, shall make your way back to Imladris and prepare for our arrival.'

Elrond nodded in compliance.

Gil-galad rose from his chair again.

'You are all excused, except for Master Elrond. A word with you?'

As Glorfindel and Isildur left the room, together with the secretaries, Gil-galad walked over to Elrond.

'So you feel it too?'

Elrond raised his eyebrows.

'Who else feels what?'

Gil-galad smiled.

'Círdan, the last time he stayed here… He described it as melancholy.'

Elrond nodded.

'It's probably nothing.'

'Probably not.' Gil-galad replied, returning and stepping behind his desk again.

Elrond, his hands behind his back, left the room.

Outside, Isildur was waiting.

'Your Lord Glorfindel said he had something to take care of, and he would find you in the afternoon.'

'Very well,' Elrond answered, making his way into the hallways.

Isildur followed him.

'What will you do?'

'See if there are messages from Imladris.'

'There have been no arrivals yet. Perhaps later in the morning.'

Elrond slowed down.

'When will your father arrive?'

'Day after tomorrow.' Isildur smiled. 'There is little you can do now, Lord Elrond, perhaps you will join me for breakfast? I do not believe you have had any yet?'

Elrond watched Isildur eat and talk, sitting across from him in the dining hall, eating very little himself. There was a rashness about him, not suiting the heir of Elendil. Yet also an unmistakable charisma, which gave Elrond no choice but to like him, his kin of many generations down.

'…Minas Anor, the Tower of the Setting Sun, is the house of my brother Anárion, and Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Rising Moon, is where my house was. Our thrones were set side by side in the Great Hall of Osgiliath…'

Elrond listened to Isildur. Not really hearing the words, rather focusing on something, somewhere deep down, which sounded eerily like his younger brother.

'…My wife is here,' Isildur said with a smile, 'my sons will arrive with their grandfather. Your own family is still in Rivendell?'

Elrond needed a moment to recount the words in his head.

'No.' he finally answered, and Isildur smiled, a glimmer in his eyes that made Elrond suspect he was well aware of the absence of such a family in Imladris.

'I see.'

A hand on his shoulder made him turn, expecting Glorfindel, but finding Celebrían. Isildur, across the table, got on his feet.

'I shall leave you… My Lady…' He bowed briefly towards Celebrían and gave Elrond a teasing smile, resembling a look that could have come from Gil-galad.

But Celebrían held Elrond's attention, allowing him no time to return a warning stare.

'Did I interrupt?'

Elrond shook his head and surrendered a comforting smile.

'Not at all.'

'Will you join me in the inner courtyard?'

'Allow me,' he returned, his voice pleased, offering his elbow.

As they made their way down to the large square internal courtyard, with its sixteen rectangular shapes of grass, each with blossoming trees on their borders, Celebrían spoke softly.

'As punishment, for my not telling where I went yesterday evening, my ladies will not let me out of their sight. They are following.'

Elrond felt no need to look around, but pulled Celebrían closer.

'Which makes me?'

'Well, not decoy, because that would be rather impractical. I wished to speak with you. And since you will leave when Círdan and my parents arrive, we have so little time left together.'

Elrond raised his eyebrows.

'Who told you I am to leave?'

Celebrían smiled.

'After all those years of talking politics to me in your letters, you still pose such a question?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'If Gil-galad intends to go to Mordor, what better place to assemble than at Imladris? Besides, I cannot imagine Oropher coming all the way to Lindon, and then travel almost the entire way back again. Especially not under another's command. He will want to keep it as short as possible.'

Elrond smiled.

'It is a hopeful sign that, even with the constant desire of the Silvan Elves to involve themselves as little as possible in the affairs of other people, Oropher has found the wisdom to anticipate; a peace will not come unless Sauron is overthrown.'

'My father says Oropher will join with an army from Lórien.'

Elrond grinned.

'That is better news still.'

Celebrían looked at him.

'But what of the Master of Imladris? Will you stand on your own, or as a part of Gil-galad's army?'

Elrond shook his head.

'I will abide by whatever Gil-galad intends for me.'

'So will my father apparently; he will stay here at Lindon, instead of coming with you all to Mordor.'

Elrond nodded.

'Someone will have to stay behind…'

They entered a path between two grassy patches where the branches of trees on both sides met high above their heads. Beneath their feet lay fresh petals, and Elrond remembered watching the gardeners when he was younger; they had seemed to consider it of vital importance to keep the petals away, a never-ending battle. In autumn the petals were replaced by leaves and the skirmish, which had been discontinued during summer, was resumed.

A voice cut through the memory.

'I came across your writings in the library.'

Celebrían remembered it vividly. Her heart had jumped upon recognition, and eagerly she had made an effort to ascertain the writer's name. Her search had been satisfying, for it had led to an inventory of his other writings. 'It wasn't very difficult,' she added.

He laughed, a gleam appearing in his eyes that made their forthcoming parting a little more bearable.

'I suppose, owing to the years I spent there, they have gathered quite a collection.'

'They have,' she answered.

Partially hidden by the trees, Elrond, his heartbeat increasing, let Celebrían's arm slip from under his. As he caught her hand, their fingers instantly intertwined.

Celebrían's voice was a whisper when she spoke.

'My ladies are going to enjoy reminding me of this.'

Elrond smiled and stopped her, pulling her closer and slowly lowering his face towards hers.

'Master Elrond…'

Both Elrond and Celebrían instantly parted, as if they could somehow hide what had almost happened.

Glorfindel shook his head.

'I do apologise…'

Elrond ironed his face.

'What is it, Glorfindel?'

'Messengers from Osgiliath have arrived.'

Celebrían caught Elrond's hand again, and Elrond led her towards Glorfindel.

'What news?'

'Anárion holds Osgiliath, and has driven the Enemy back to the mountains for the time being. But he sends word that alone, he will not long stand. And before I forget, Círdan, Galadriel and Celeborn have arrived. Gil-galad hopes you will join them. As soon as possible.'

Elrond looked at Celebrían, who released his hand.

'You are needed, my Lord. I shall be fine.'

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

  
Quendi, is the original name for the Elves (of every kind), and it means 'those who speak with voices'.

Hildor, is the Elvish name for 'Men'

Narsilion; the Song of the Sun and Moon.

Mithlond, the Grey Havens

the Houses of the Dead; the Halls of Mandos, also called the Halls of Awaiting, where the slain go

Osgiliath, the chief city of Gondor, standing on either side of the river Anduin

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	6. The Last Alliance

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Therefore they made that League which is called the Last Alliance, and they marched east into Middle-earth gathering a great host of Elves and Men; and they halted for a while at Imladris. It is said that the host that was there assembled was fairer and more splendid in arms than any that has since been seen in Middle-earth, and none greater has been mustered since the host of the Valar went against Thangorodrim._  
**From the Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 6 The Last Alliance**

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'I do not understand why he summoned you at all,' Glorfindel said, as he followed Elrond into his study, both still dressed in their travel clothing.

'Who can tell when it concerns Gil-galad?' Elrond returned, a glimmer of disgruntlement in his voice, pulling loose the fastenings of his cloak. 'Perhaps he wanted me to meet Isildur, perhaps he wanted to play at matchmaking.'

'Was he successful?' Glorfindel asked, starting a lighter tone.

Elrond turned round.

'Do not start.'

Erestor entered, writing-gear and paper ready.

Elrond accepted a towel from an attendant and sat down, dabbing his face and neck.

'Inform the Master of Guards, that soon we will have troops at Imladris once more. Also inform the bakeries, the orchards and the kitchens that we will have many mouths to feed. How are our present supplies?' Elrond rested his arm on the table.

'They would last approximately two months, comparing it with the amount of men we fed the last time Gil-galad stayed over,' Erestor said, bowed over the records.

'Expect many more on this occasion, Erestor,' Glorfindel answered.

'I will see to it, my Lord.'

'We will discuss details tomorrow.'

Erestor nodded and left quickly as Glorfindel sat down.

'He lives for moments like these, you realise that? And so do you.'

Elrond sat back.

The meeting with Círdan, Celeborn and Galadriel had been short. Gil-galad had immediately sent him back to Imladris, not even waiting for Elendil's arrival from Annúminas, to make arrangements for their arrival two weeks from now. They would have departed Lindon at least a week ago, when he himself had still been on the road. Or two weeks even, if there were many on foot.

It was starting. And there was much to be done.

He looked at Glorfindel.

'Let us retire early this evening, for, in all probability, we shall not sleep in a long while.'

Glorfindel nodded and left Elrond, who rested his head on his hand.

He had not been able to properly take his leave of Celebrían. She had seen him leave, but there had only been time to raise his hand in farewell. _You should have made the time._

But it could not be undone.

A usually peaceful Imladris turned into a beehive of movement, during the days that followed. There were always people in his study, or waiting in the hall. Messengers arriving and leaving again. No time in which to take a walk by the river, or into the nearby lower mountains. Few private moments whatsoever. But Glorfindel had been right: he was enjoying it. And Erestor even more. The young Elf, in comparison to them, at least, had turned into a true master of managing; stocking up food and drink, wood, even garments, armour and weapons.

When word began to flood in, notifying them of the increasing proximity of Gil-galad's host, Imladris was ready and waiting.

The first sight Elrond caught of them, was Gil-galad's honour guard; not that he could have missed it if he had tried. The early summer sun reflected on the golden armour and the silvery mithril of their chain mails. Elrond remembered it all too well; he had an almost identical one, kept carefully with his armour, worn during their last War against the Dark Lord. He recalled its weight being insignificant, in comparison to a normal chain mail.

Gil-galad came behind. Elendil, Elrond assumed, as he noticed the jewel, the Elendilmir*, on the Man's brow, next to him. Isildur, together with his three sons and Círdan, followed. Behind them came men, on horse, on foot, for as far as the eye could see.

Unhurried, Elrond joined Glorfindel and Erestor, who had already made their way down. Elrond smoothed his face as the horses stopped and their riders dismounted.

'Welcome to Imladris, my Lords,' he spoke, his eyes meeting Gil-galad's. No embrace, as usual, but a curt catching of arms, before turning to the Númenórean exile.

'My Lord, it is an honour to finally make your acquaintance.'

'The honour is ours, Master Elrond,' Elendil replied, his voice pleasing, also carrying something of the past, as Isildur's did. 'You know my son Isildur, I believe? And my grandsons, Elendur, Aratan and Ciryon.'

The dark-haired young men all bowed as Isildur gave Elrond a grin and a bow.

'My wife, Master Elrond,' Isildur extended his hand to the dark-haired woman that had dismounted, helped by one of her sons.

Elrond smiled warmly, and led them inside.

Informing the company that a feast would be held in two hours, he and Gil-galad led Elendil to his rooms. Glorfindel was taking care of Isildur and his sons. When Elendil closed the doors behind him, Gil-galad began walking into the direction of his own customary chambers. Elrond silently went along.

'You will not easily forgive me this, will you?' Gil-galad asked.

'My Lord?' Elrond asked, feigning ignorance.

Gil-galad smiled.

'I did not intend on sending you off so hurriedly…' Gil-galad eyed his vice-regent, his eyes glimmering nevertheless. 'And this is where you say; 'The Lord of Imladris is no messenger-boy, to be dealt with lightly'.'

Elrond looked at Gil-galad.

'I would think, the High King of the Elves, the wise Ereinion Gil-galad, has no reason for apologising.'

'He seldom feels the need to, that is why I lack skilfulness now.' Gil-galad, catching Elrond's arm, stopped him and pulled him into an embrace.

'I have no son, Elrond of Imladris, and I do not wish to turn Eärendil's son, who I have loved as my own for most of his life, against me now. Be angry with an old Elf, but not too long.'

Elrond stood silently for a moment, knowing his voice would fail if he spoke now.

Gil-galad smiled faintly at him and went on, alone, knowing his way around Imladris as well as Elrond knew Lindon.

The Lord of Imladris returned to his study, and the hallway with waiting people. Enough to do until dinner.

Later in the evening, Elrond ate little as he listened carefully to the discussions going around the table.

It was Elendil that commented.

'Is it because of sympathy for our troops, who enjoy not so fine a meal as we, that you abstain, Master Elrond?'

Elrond smiled and shifted in his chair.

'I assure you, that our meal is not much different from what the men are being served.'

Gil-galad emptied his glass.

'I heard they have Erestor to thank for that.'

Elrond nodded.

'Indeed.'

Erestor took the opportunity to start an early discussion on planning.

'Is there any indication on how long you will stay on this side of the Misty Mountains, my Lord?'

Gil-galad laughed.

'Are you so eager to be rid of us, Erestor?'

The young Elf raised an eyebrow and smiled.

'Merely inquiring on how long we need to continue stocking up supplies, my Lord.'

Elendil had his glass refilled by an attendant.

'I suspect my son would wish to be present when his wife gives birth. By that time it will be winter, and we will not be able to easily pass the mountains.'

'Besides,' Gil-galad started, 'the larger part of our host is not yet assembled, and we must wait for their arrivals. As we travel over the mountains and south, Greenwood the Great and Lórien are to join us, and I was told there shall be Dwarves from Moria. And Mithlond will be sending more of its people?' he asked, turning to Círdan, who nodded.

'We are gathering as much Elves and Men as we can, along the coast, yet I fear many men will simply refuse. As if the Darkness will stop upon reaching the Hithaeglir. Yet keep in mind that Anárion needs help, sooner rather than later.'

Neither Elendil or Isildur stayed very long in the Hall of Fire afterwards; Elendil stating tiredness and Isildur escorting his wife back. Ciryon chose to join his parents, but Elendur and Aratan seemed intent on hearing all the storytelling and singing they could.

Gil-galad sat down next to Elrond.

'However much I would prefer to march on, this is nothing compared to the last wars. We need to plan more intensively. This could take a year… Perhaps even more.' Gil-galad rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder. Elrond looked at him, his voice a whisper.

'We came too late last time, my Lord.'

'Anárion will have an easy winter; the Dark Lord had underestimated his persistence. We will be in time, I promise you.' Gil-galad smiled. 'Have you fitted your armour yet?'

Elrond smiled.

'It still fits. Have you decided?'

Gil-galad nodded.

'You will march with the host, as my herald.'

Elrond nodded deliberately.

'Very well.'

In the coldest of winter, the shutters closed against the harsh winds that swept down from the Misty Mountains, the fourth son of Isildur, Valandil, was born. Precisely a year later, Gil-galad, Elendil and Elrond finally made a decision on when to march on, to cross the mountains and make way for Mordor. As soon as spring would arrive in the mountains, they would lead their thousands of men towards Darkness.

Until then, Elrond took the time to re-acquaint himself with swordsmanship, only to discover there was little need. Practising on cold winter mornings, together with Glorfindel, took his mind off of what was coming. Gil-galad would come and watch on occasion, but rarely joined.

On such a morning, with spring rapidly approaching, Glorfindel arrived at the training grounds late, bearing a message for Elrond.

'Gil-galad wishes to see you in your library, something seems to have come up…'

Elrond, fearing an early attack on Minas Anor or Osgiliath, set off into the direction of the library. Finding Gil-galad in the hall, he immediately inquired.

'What news?'

Gil-galad smiled.

'Rest assured, there is nothing that will make us leave sooner than the end of the week. A messenger waits for you inside.'

Elrond looked at the High King, whose eyes betrayed enough, and hurried into the library, his heart singing in anticipation.

'I tried to tell Gil-galad I had given you my word…' Celebrían said, rising from her chair.

Elrond nodded forgivingly.

'You listen to your king, as do I.'

'But you asked me to leave, and not go to Imladris or Lórien, when enemy forces crossed the Anduin. I remind you; they have not yet done so.'

Elrond smiled broadly. Resting a hand on the table he lowered onto a chair.

'I regretted leaving without a proper farewell.'

'So did I.'

From across the table, a chair down from each other, they each stretched their arms, their fingers meeting. Elrond rested his gaze on their fingertips.

'When did you arrive?'

'Just now,' Celebrían answered. 'Gil-galad sent for you immediately.'

'Lunch will be in an hour… I shall accompany you to your rooms.'

They walked silently, hands entangled once again, faces red, breath constrained.

Arriving at her door, Elrond cleared his throat.

'I will return in less than an hour.'

Celebrían smiled, raising an eyebrow.

'You have two High Kings in your house who need your attention more than I.'

Elrond returned the smile.

'One of them will take great pleasure in seeing us in each other's company. The other will hopefully forgive my folly.'

Neither of them moved, not ready yet to go and prepare.

Finally, their hands slipping, Elrond moved away.

Then he walked down the terrace, forbidding himself to look back, silently thanking Gil-galad for interfering.

Returning after changing, only half an hour later, Elrond found the doors widely opened, and three ladies busily crossing the room to and fro. One of them smiled at him, before bowing her head shortly.

'My Lady will be finished soon, my Lord.'

Elrond smiled, leaning against the doorpost. Content even here, knowing she was near. The deep velvety green of his outer robes brightened up under the faint yet persistent rays of the winter sun, colouring the fine embroidery of the blue-grey tunic he wore underneath. Elrond closed his eyes, enjoying the warm light.

A hand on his chest forced him to open them again, and he could not help but think they were still closed.

'You are early, my Lord.'

Her silver hair was loosely twisted and ingeniously interwoven with strands of shining snow-white lace, bringing out her eyes. Her elegant white dress was sewed with such skill that it was hard to say where one layer of material started or another ended. The garment reached just short of her neckline, and the green stone of Celebrimbor's making was hanging there. But even without it all, she was wise and queenly, flawless. With an elegant movement she enveloped her neck and shoulders with a white shawl.

Catching her hand, Elrond folded it under his arm and rested his own over it.

'I wished to show you something.'

Harps and soft singing already drifted through the Last Homely House, a sad sound. It made both Elrond and Celebrían intensely mindful of premonitions.

Nearing the most outward terrace of the house, Celebrían released Elrond's arm.

Despite the day-time light, hundreds of fires could be distinguished, down there, just outside the valley. She rested her hands on the banister.

'I recall seeing this before.'

Elrond moved beside her.

'After all those years, almost full circle…'

Celebrían turned towards him.

'If you want me to go back to Lindon…'

He looked down at her. Then he raised his hand, touching her hair for a moment.

'Would you listen to me?'

Celebrían looked away.

'I realise… My coming here has made things more difficult.'

Elrond smiled, moving his fingers across her cheek, barely touching the skin.

'For the remaining days, we shall cope.'

Celebrían looked up at him again, touching a strand of his hair, then averted her gaze from his face. Gently, Elrond raised her face with his hand and bent towards her, as he had in Lindon, and for a moment, both were tensely awaiting an interruption. It did not come.

Their lips met only briefly, and only once, but in the touch lay centuries of longing, waiting. The subsequent embrace a manner in which to cling to something that could not yet be. Her arms were around him, underneath his own which rested on her back. One stroking the arch of her spine, the other exploring the curve of her shoulder blade, underneath her hair. He felt her voice when she spoke, resonating in her chest, so close to him.

'They will be waiting for us.'

Elrond smiled mischievously.

'Let them wait.'

Celebrían smiled, catching his hand.

'Come…'

Last to arrive, most eyes were on them. Celebrían bowed shortly to Gil-galad and Elendil, nodding at the others. Initially she prepared to take the seat between Círdan and Erestor, but Glorfindel smiled broadly and surrendered his, on Elrond's right side. Elrond didn't need words to express appreciation, as he looked at Glorfindel.

'You have arrived only barely in time, my Lady. In three days you would have found us gone.'

Celebrían smiled understandingly at Elendil, who had spoken, shifting her eyes to Elrond.

'Thankfully I travelled fast.'

Due to last preparations, the following days were extremely busy. But Gil-galad seemed to have instructed Erestor and Glorfindel to take some of Elrond's burdens, now that Celebrían was there. Still, there was too little time.

On the morning of their departure, an hour before they would head off, Elrond was in his chambers, getting into his riding gear. Walking across the room in his trousers and mithril chain mail, he was handed his leather chest armour that went over it, when Celebrían entered. Relieving the attendant, she carefully helped fasten the last leather straps that held the front and back together.

'You have everything?' she asked, as he fastened his dark blue cloak; the High King's colours.

Elrond nodded; the chest holding his metal armour and other clothes had already been taken away. Celebrían caught his hand with one of hers and turned the palm upwards, placing a small silver pendant, shaped like a star, in the centre, which hung from a leather band. Elrond smiled.

'What is this?'

Celebrían blushed slightly, which made him laugh.

'It is a palan-rîn, something to remember me by when you are away. I had it made for you in Lindon.'

Elrond fastened it around his neck, then found Celebrían's hand with his own, and pressed his lips against the palm.

'I will wear it close to my heart.'

Having taken his leave from Celebrían, asking her not to come with him to the stables, Elrond entered a private part of his garden. A simple statue of the Lady*, her eyes closed, yet all-seeing, stood there alone; the sparse light that came through the branches of the overhanging trees lighting up her face.

Elrond rested his hand upon the statue's platform.

'Protect her, Lady of the Stars, protect her for me. And protect my Lord Gil-galad.'

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

  
Elendilmir: the symbol of High Kingship, a diamond bound to the brow by a mithril fillet

Hithaeglir: Elvish for the Misty Mountains

palan-rîn: literally 'palan-' is Sindarin for 'afar' and 'rîn' is Sindarin for remembrance

the Lady: Varda, wife of Manwë, Lady of the Stars, Elbereth Githoniel etc. etc.

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	7. Dagor Dagorlad and the Siege...

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_The host of Gil-galad and Elendil had the victory, for the might of the Elves was still great in those days, and the Númenóreans were strong and tall, and terrible in their wrath. Against Aeglos* the spear of Gil-galad none could stand; and the sword of Elendil filled Orcs and Men with fear, for it shone with the light of the sun and of the moon, and it was named Narsil._  
**From the Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 7 Dagor Dagorlad and the Siege…**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

It was the seventh day since their departure from Imladris, that the head of the host crossed the Misty Mountains. Ordering a halt, until all the troops had crossed, Gil-galad and Elendil set up camp.

As Elrond, after supervising the raising of his own tent, made way for Gil-galad's, he was joined by Isildur. His face expressed irritation.

'No bad news, I hope?' Elrond enquired.

Isildur nodded.

'Actually, I fear there is. Word comes from Erech; they will not stand with us against Sauron.'

Elrond nodded. Gil-galad had shared with him, confidentially, that he expected their decline. Especially after the troops from Erech failed to arrive at Imladris. The King of the Mountains might have sworn his allegiance when the realm of Gondor was young, but their worship of the Dark Lord in the Dark Years made them reluctant to stand against him.

Together they entered Gil-galad's tent, also finding Elendil at the map-covered table. Both seemed to know the news already. After a short exchange, Isildur called for a messenger. His voice was filled with rage when he dictated:

'Tell the King of the Mountains in Erech; _'Thou shalt be the last king. And if the West prove mightier than thy Black Master, this curse I lay upon thee and thy folk; to rest never until your oath is fulfilled. For this war will last through years uncounted, and you shall be summoned once again ere the end.'_ So says Isildur of Gondor, son of Elendil.'

The messenger left. Gil-galad spoke to reassure Isildur:

'One good might come from this; likely they will not fight against us. Sit down and eat, it cannot now be altered.'

Isildur sat down and said little for the duration of the meal.

The next day, their march down the river Anduin began.

Within three months, the Dead Marshes were reached.

Elrond had not thought that, after the marshes, it could become worse. Now he knew it could. They had already lost many men there, Malgalad, the commander of the force from Lórien, one of the first. He had gone astray and, like many others, drowned in the treacherous pools that lay before the Battle Plain.

But then it was at last that they came upon the host of Sauron on Dagorlad, which lay before the gate of the Black Land. It seemed as if almost all living things had been divided on that day. With a certain pride, Elrond could say; all living things, but the Elves. They alone had been united, and had followed Gil-galad into battle.

The rush of adrenaline, and the impressive unison the Elvish soldiers emanated, had driven not only Elrond, he concluded from the flashes of the others he saw. After the first lines had inevitably been broken; the archers retreated after their volleys of arrows had run out. The blades-men had taken their place, even the Elf-lords stepping in: Gil-galad, thrusting his spear clear through the chest of an Orc; Glorfindel, his hair clearly distinguishable, together with an equally recognisable Círdan, no match for the five Orcs that at one point surrounded them; cutting off an Orc-hand and, with one and the same fluent movement, beheading another. Even Erestor, swift on his feet, as one would expect from an Elf, piercing his sword into an assailant. Elrond himself, caught up in the heat of battle, wielded the sword Gil-galad bestowed on him, when he had first been sent out to Eregion.

This time he would not be driven back.

The victory at Dagorlad was the first and most strategic triumph that anyone could have hoped for. Securing the dusty plain before the entrance of Mordor was decisive; the Dark Lord was forced to retreat into his lair.

The instance of the Enemy's withdrawal, was one that Elrond would never forget. An ambiguous feeling had come over him; of success, but also of loss. Loss of friends, and the loss of a certain compassion. He could only stand and watch, see what had been done.

We are fighting for our freedom… If not them, in the end, it would be us.

There was a hand on his shoulder; Gil-galad, boisterous, eager to clear his mind of the clouds.

'Hail! Master Elrond, and well met. Daer tûr.'

Turning towards him, Elrond let himself be pulled into an embrace, their armour giving a metallic clash upon colliding.

'Indeed, my Lord,' he answered softly, slightly bewildered.

Gil-galad needed the embrace. He needed to convince himself that Elrond was alive and well, as he had lost sight of his herald during the tumult, and even though he was fully aware of the Master of Imladris's capability to stand his ground, he felt responsible for the young halfelven that grew up at his court. He was fine, a little bruised, but they all were. Releasing Elrond, Gil-galad hit him on the shoulder and began to walk into the direction of Elendil and his men. He knew Elrond would make his way for the infirmaries and field-hospitals, rather than join him and Elendil in their victory celebrations. He was too serious, with far too many bad memories… Gil-galad trusted Celebrían would help Elrond with that; she had already uncovered different sides. Qualities which Gil-galad had never expected to see. He turned around, some paces removed.

'Dinner tonight, Imladris.'

Elrond moved his head, accepting.

It was indeed the field hospital Elrond visited; after shedding his armour and changing his clothing in his tent. The smell of Orc-blood was up his nostrils, the foul poison that, no doubt, lay in it, worrying him. Clad in simple grey Elven-mail, he entered the large complex, raised in haste, and was immediately approached by one of the other healers. He spent his time until dinner, taking pulses, prodding wounds, attempting to close bleeding arteries, fighting back poison fevers, not discerning whether it was Man or Elf.

His mood changed there, he was aware of it. It became easier to smile, to comfort, because here it didn't matter who he was, only that he was present.

Walking back to Gil-galad's tent, cleaning his hands with a cloth drenched in an herbal solution to remove any dirt, Elrond's mind wandered to Imladris, to Celebrían. It was recalling the warmth of her lips, their texture, which enabled him to gather the strength for a victory dinner with the High King. No doubt Elendil would be there, Isildur and his sons, Círdan, Glorfindel…

When he entered, the large tent was empty, except for Gil-galad.

'My Lord…'

'How is the field-hospital handling the wounded?'

'There are three hospitals, and they are all managing.'

Gil-galad nodded as he sat down.

'And is the Master of Imladris managing?'

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

'He is.'

Gil-galad placed his fingers around the stem of his glass, slowly shifting it over the table.

'Sit down, you haven't eaten since breakfast.'

Elrond took some bread and smiled.

'The people you send to check up on me can be used for more important tasks.'

'Is my peace of mind not important?'

Elrond grinned, aware that this was an attempt to cheer him up.

'Of course it is.'

Gil-galad split up the troops, two days after securing Dagorlad. A small detachment, under Isildur's command, was sent to Osgiliath, to help Anárion with the remaining bands of orcs that still roamed the area. The larger half went on into Mordor, making its way to Orodruin, and the Dark Tower of Barad-dûr.

There the siege began; keeping a constant pressure on the Tower, and the Dark Lord within.

The first thing one was aware of there, waking in the cold and damp morning, was the smell. It made the throat thick, the eyes ache. Like rotting, except one had the impression there was nothing for miles that could rot. There was a dust, filth, that never left clothing, that collected in boxes, on the pages of books, and took ages to remove. Only when the wind picked up, which seemed to happen only in winter, they would be rid of those discomforts, exchanging them for others.

On one of the treasured days that there was wind out of season; four months into the Siege, Isildur and Anárion rejoined the main host. It would be the last time of celebration.

It was for six long years, every single day, that they watched the fumes rise from Orodruin, which the Númenóreans had renamed Amon Amarth; Mount Doom. Sorties were sent against them; and there, in the valley of Gorgoroth, many men were grievously lost to the poisonous arrows and projectiles of the Enemy. Among those, Anárion, son of Elendil.

But the siege went on. For as long as there were men to fight and defend, neither Gil-galad nor Elendil were willing to withdraw.

The day would come, Elrond knew, that Sauron would be forced to come forth, and on that day, it would end. For better or worse.

It was nearing the end of winter, the year following Anárion's death. The Siege was significantly less apparent. In Mordor this season meant icy winds and sand-storms, and the last days before spring seemed to want to prove their ferocity. The orcs seemed as unwilling to leave their encampments on these days as the members of the Alliance. Yet Elrond was out there, supervising discharges of burning arrows over the lower walls of Barad-dûr. The hood of his cloak taken off, shielding the back of his neck against the fierce winds, he scanned the area. Watchful as ever for Enemy attackers coming out of the large Gate, his ears warned him first this time. For a moment he thought it was the sound of the horns of Gondor, carried by the wind. But as soon as the sound was joined by the terrible voices of death, and the skies darkened, he knew the Gates would bring forth the most terrible servants of the Enemy.

'Úlairi…' he whispered, while mounting his horse, shortly before raising his voice: 'Breitha-dírnaith! Ad estolad!'

As the archers sprinted back, retreating behind the swordsmen standing ready for such an occurrence, Elrond delayed his own departure, waiting, curious.

Only when the Gate opened, orcs looking on from the battlements above, and the Nine Dark Riders sped out, did he spur his horse into the direction of the safer ranks. As he rode, Elrond could hear the horns of the Númenóreans; able to clearly distinguish them from the ones sounding before.

As the ranks parted to admit him, Elrond turned the horse and watched the Nazgûl close in. They seemed careful not to come into the range of the Elvish archers, and stayed, just out of reach, simply halting their horses.

A voice rang from inside their own lines.

'Tercáno!'

It was Glorfindel, also on horseback, nearing Elrond. Arriving next to him, Glorfindel rested his eyes on the Nine.

'They do not attack?'

Elrond shook his head.

'They simply came to drive us back.'

'That means an impasse is close.'

'Perhaps.'

Elrond turned in his saddle towards a lieutenant.

'Assemble thirty archers on horseback.'

Glorfindel looked at Elrond.

'Are you planning what I fear you are?'

'Wish to join us?'

Glorfindel smiled.

'With pleasure.'

Elrond dismounted and gave some orders to the commander of the soldiers on foot, gesturing into the distance. As a group of Elvish riders approached, he mounted again. He addressed all that could hear.

'The archers ride within striking distance. Hopefully we will scare them back, and continue our endeavour… If not, we return here and wait for them to act. Be ready to return upon my word.' He looked at Glorfindel. 'Ready?'

A united call came from all. Elrond prompted his horse and rode forward. The archers, initially only following, overtook and passed him. As soon as they closed in far enough Elrond raised his voice.

'Daro! Hado I philinn!'

As the rain of arrows sped through the air, at first only hitting the ground, meters away from the Ringwraiths, but soon landing beside them, the Dark Riders seemed to loose nerve and began to draw back slowly. Elrond, making sure the lines stayed closed, ordered an advance, while motioning Glorfindel forward.

'We cannot keep advancing, it will leave us vulnerable; if they do not retreat entirely, we must return.'

'At least you have tried,' Glorfindel argued.

Elrond nodded, biting his lower lip as he watched the Nazgûl.

Then he called for the retreat. The Nine seemed to mock him, as he was the last one to leave the open field.

Arriving back at the encampment, he was at once summoned by Gil-galad. Sweaty, his face and armour dirty with the remains of the early-morning sandstorm that had troubled his party, Elrond entered.

'My Lord.'

Gil-galad was on his feet immediately.

'Egleris!, and well met, my friend, but promise me one thing.'

Elrond nodded. 'Name it.'

'Never attempt such a pointless venture again.'

A laugh escaped Elrond's lips.

'I promise solemnly.'

'For I will strip you of every privilege you have.'

'I understand, sir.'

But the incident had indeed foreshadowed a standoff.

It was not three days later that spring arrived, and word came with it; a large army of orcs was leaving Barad-dûr, heading towards them.

The Alliance moved as one, the last line of defence between the Dark Forces and the free lands of Middle-earth.

The Last Alliance to protect against the power of the Ring…

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

  
Aeglos is also called Aiglos in 'Lord of the Rings'

This speech from Isildur comes directly from Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.

Daer tûr: literally 'mighty victory'

Breitha-dírnaith: literally 'break formation'

Ad: back again (there does not seem to be a Sindarin word for return)

estolad: encampment

Tercáno: herald (Quenya)

Daro: 'stop'

Hado I philinn!: straight from the movie 'Fire the arrows!', literally 'hurl the arrows'

egleris: praise!

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A/N: there is no evidence that Elrond ever fought Ringwraiths, still, there is none that he didn't either…

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	8. Fall of the Mighty

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_'I beheld the last combat on the slopes of Orodruin, where Gil-galad died, and Elendil fell, and Narsil broke beneath him; but Sauron himself was overthrown, and Isildur cut the Ring from his hand with the hilt-shard of his father's sword, and took it for his own.'_  
**Elrond's words from Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 8 Fall of the Mighty**

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'No…' Elrond did not know what it was he felt, he had not experienced it before. 'Let me wake. Let it be a dream, Elbereth, Lady of the Stars. Please I beg of you, if my line has a favour left from some ancient time, please, I implore you, hear my plea…'

But the eyes of the Master of Imladris were already open. He did not arise, into the blissful world where he had so oft woken. Instead he still watched the body, which was lying in a strange position, of the man he had considered a friend… A father… His breath was strained and his head ached. His throat thick with the held-back tears he would not shed.

Someone ran into him, while he stepped nearer, but he ignored it, causing the other to hit the ground.

Not caring, not thinking of anything else, he knelt down beside the body. Carefully he turned it and placed the limbs in their normal position, before he undid the breast armour. His vision blurred. Desperately blinking with his eyelids Elrond made it go away. Slowly and with both hands he swept back the dark strands of hair that lay over the pale face. Undignified, not doing their last honour, to the one they belonged to. Closing the staring eyes with a swift movement he had used too often, the past years in that dreary place, he took a deep breath. But it came out wrong. A moment later all the sound around him went absent, which, deep down, worried him.

Lifting the upper part of the body first, then slipping his arm underneath the knees, Elrond lifted the remains, and started walking into the direction where, quite some distance removed, the High King's sizeable tent stood. They had marched some miles from the encampment to the battle-field, and the fighting there had further removed them. Elrond knew he had a considerable way to go. But his mind seemed to have gone missing from his body… Drifting to times long past: Lindon, Eregion, Imladris… They would have celebrated as incessantly as when they destroyed the last company of orcs between them… At Imladris…

His voice uttered choked lamentations.

'Not you… Why must it be you?'

'Please, Súlimo, my Lord of Arda, from your dwelling in the halls of Taniquetil, highest of mountains, do not sit by as such wrong is done. I beg of you…'

There were quick footsteps coming from behind. An Elf, Elrond heard, for Men's feet land so heavily, and slipped so easily on these treacherous grounds. The sound made him turn his thoughts to the present. But there came no hand on his shoulder, no voice beseeching him to halt. Once more another pair of feet. Again one of his own people, but still none of them dared to near him.

'My Lord…' Erestor had called, before his body had been flung down by Elrond. But the Lord of Imladris had seemed temporarily deafened.

Watching his master kneel down at the High-king's body, Erestor had gotten on his feet again. Feverishly in search of one of the other high Lords: Glorfindel or Círdan, who would undoubtedly have some idea on how to assist.

He had found Círdan not far away, with Isildur, who was tending his father's remains.

'What is the matter, Erestor?' Círdan had called over, leaving Isildur, who was holding the Ring he had cut from Sauron's finger.

'Lord Elrond, he… I fear… He is with my Lord Gil-galad,' Erestor stammered.

'Is he well, Erestor? We were separated only a moment, tell me, he is well?' Círdan shook Erestor more wildly than intended.

'Please follow, my Lord.'

Círdan, mortally worried for the son of his old friend Eärendil, and suddenly remembering Gil-galad, followed the younger Elf faster than he could have before. As the High King was knocked down by the Dark Lord, he might have suffered serious injuries; Círdan was unwilling to consider something worse.

It were these two Elves that Elrond heard nearing him, as he carried his master's body back. All the way to Lindon, if it was asked of him.

Glorfindel came from the direction of the flank-position Gil-galad had ordered him to, which had covered the main host of the army as they had fought. He had been responsible for the defeat of the Orc-army that had stood there. Seeing Elrond, the body in his arms, coming towards him, he was the first to address him.

'My Lord, are you uninjured?'

Elrond seemed to give Glorfindel a mocking smile, but said nothing.

Glorfindel let him pass, meeting up with Círdan and Erestor, who still followed, exchanging condoling looks.

'And Elendil?'

Círdan shook his head shortly. Glorfindel caught Círdan's arm.

'But what of the Ring?'

'Isildur cut it from Sauron's hand. He has it.'

'And you _left_ him?'

'Yes, at the base of Orodruin.'

Glorfindel returned to Elrond.

'You need to go back to Isildur. He has the Ring, it must be destroyed.'

There came no answer. Glorfindel persisted.

'Elrond, do not now dwell with the dead; the living have more need for you here.'

The Lord of Imladris stopped.

'Let me bring him back to the encampment. Isildur is a grown man, he knows what to do.'

Glorfindel looked at Círdan.

'My Lord, I will gladly take your task… Please?' Glorfindel extended his arms, convincing Elrond to hand over the body. 'Trust me.'

Elrond reluctantly, and with infinite gentleness, passed the limp body of the High King to Glorfindel, who, with the help of Erestor, continued Elrond's journey.

Círdan caught Elrond's arm.

'Come, we must go.'

Together they hurried back, not looking over their shoulder once.

They found Isildur by the body of his father, sitting with his head in his hands, two of his sons now with him, Elendur and Ciryon.

Elrond slowed down only a little.

'Isildur, you have the Ring?'

The Man looked up at him and raised his hand; holding the golden circlet between his fingers.

Círdan pointed into the direction of the path up the mountain.

'Come on, make haste.'

Elrond hurried Isildur onto his feet.

'Follow me.'

'What is up there?' Isildur called to Elrond, who walked in front of him.

The reply was curt.

'The cracks of Mount Doom.'

Once they entered the gap, leading into the blistering heat that collected in the mountain, Elrond, in a desperate feeling of loss, walked past Isildur and up to the very edge of the chasm. As if he knew the spirit of the Dark Lord still lingered somewhere, he mowed his fist through the air, accompanied by a short call, showing what their intention was.

'Cast it into the fire!' he called to Isildur.

Círdan looked at Isildur, who looked at the fiery depth and back to the Ring.

'Destroy it!'

Isildur looked, first at Círdan, then, with a far deeper glance in his eyes, to Elrond.

'No.' There was a moment of silence before Isildur continued. 'This I will have as were-gild for my father's death, and my brother's. Was it not I that dealt the Enemy his death-blow?'

Elrond's eyes seemed to widen in disbelief.

'Has my… your father, my King, have they died in vain?'

Isildur met Elrond's lethal look.

'Do not think, because I descend from your brother, that you can command me.'

Elrond wished to, but at that moment could not manage the discipline. His voice was soft, but piercing.

'You are _nothing_ like my brother.'

Isildur turned around, with a broad smile, and left the two Elves in the crevice. Elrond stood motionless, not accepting that Isildur had gone. Disappointment that he had spoken when he shouldn't have emanated from his face.

'_Isildur!_'

Círdan shrunk back from the emotion that the outcry carried.

He knew that Elrond had not been entirely truthful. He remembered Elros well, and suspected that, precisely because Isildur so greatly resembled his forefather, Elrond had spoken so harshly. The Half-elven felt betrayed; once more his kin had made a decision he would never truly understand. Elros had, long before Isildur.

Then, without notice, Elrond left, going down the mountain again.

Círdan, for a moment, hoped Elrond would go to Isildur, but following he watched him sprint away, back to the encampment.

Glorfindel watched the High King's face, finding it remarkably peaceful after such a violent death. The tent was in a state of twilight; some candles burned, but the darkness of death was inescapable. Beyond, one could hear the soft singing of Elves, saddened by the loss of their King.

When Elrond raised the flap to the entrance of the tent, his chest heaved heavily, his body trying to find breath after the long and rapid run. Glorfindel watched him kneel at the side of the dead King, and his heart, mourning the demise, grieved intensely for his friend also.

'I shall leave you,' he whispered, unsure if Elrond heard, or for that matter, cared.

Outside, he found Erestor and Círdan.

'We seem to have lost an entire generation of rulers,' Círdan sighed.

Erestor looked at Glorfindel.

'Most have their sons to take their tasks, but what of Gil-galad?'

Círdan and Glorfindel exchanged a long look.

'Elrond…'

'He will not claim it,' Círdan finally said, shaking his head.

'He is the heir…' Glorfindel answered.

'But rule what? Our time is coming to an end, our people have done their duty, they will, if only one by one, be leaving these shores.'

The sound of several pairs of footsteps could be heard and the three Elves turned around. It was Thranduil, son of Oropher, now King of Mirkwood, and two of his lieutenants. Oropher, not much inclined to place himself under the supreme command of the High King, had been slain in the first assault, rushing forward before Gil-galad had given the signal for the advance.

Overall, the Silvan Elves had fought valiantly, although ill-equipped in comparison with the Eldar of the West. Their losses were grievous; they need not have been. Therefore, Círdan had no wish to insult anyone. Nor did Thranduil.

'I heard of Gil-galad's demise, and come to give my condolences.'

'Many good soldiers have fallen,' Círdan answered.

'Yes,' Thranduil answered, his face unchanged.

It was then that Elrond, his face pale, but with no other signs of distress, exited the tent in front of which they all stood.

He nodded at Thranduil, who bowed shortly. All eyes were on him.

His voice was low, but strong.

'May Mandos guide Ereinion Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, and welcome him readily into his Halls. May his name live on for as long as his people still inhabit Arda Sahta.'

'May Eärendil's eldest son, to whom now the throne befalls, inherit his wisdom and strength.'

Six Elves turned around as one. Elrond simply stared at Isildur, who had spoken.

'There will be no more High Kings, not of the Elves. The last one shall be remembered as victor over the Dark Lord. As will your father.'

Isildur looked at Elrond.

'I wish to speak with you. Alone.'

Elrond nodded at the others and raised the opening of the tent for the man to enter. Inside he folded his hands and rested his eyes on Isildur, cautioning him.

'Do not mock the sacrifice our Lords have made, not here, not to me.' His voice gave off an additional warning.

Isildur shook his head.

'We both spoke in anger, bereavement.'

Elrond tilted his head. He observed the Ring hanging from Isildur's neck.

'It is not wise to keep it.'

'Will it stand between us if I decide to maintain it?'

Elrond stared at him silently. Finally he looked away.

'It will not.'

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Súlimo = literally 'Lord of the Breath of Arda', another designation for Manwë

Arda Sahta, literally: the Marred World, the Elves call it so because within the borders of their world, Melkor can influence everything.

I am aware that sending them up the mountain (movie-like) is very probably not canonical, but I liked it, and used it. So bite me, I can do what I like. (don't take offence, I am off to sing sorrowful songs)

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	9. Regrets and Confessions

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Then Sauron was for that time vanquished, and he forsook his body, and his spirit fled far away and hid in waste places; and he took no visible shape again for many long years._  
**From The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 9 Regrets and Confessions**

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Glorfindel was worried. Very worried.

After leaving Barad-dûr, he had expected Elrond to travel to Lindon via Lórien, or Imladris; wherever it was Celebrían waited for him. But Elrond had insisted on the total opposite: travelling to Lindon as fast as possible. Not stopping anywhere, except to give some much needed rest to the horses.

Upon arriving in Lindon, the city darkened by grief, Elrond had buried himself in the work that had waited for Gil-galad's return. Yet nothing indicated a pending return to Imladris, or that Elrond indeed intended to betroth himself to Celebrían. Instead, he had sent Erestor to take care of affairs in Imladris.

When after a year, there was nothing more that kept him in Lindon; and with Círdan promising he would care for the remnant of Elves there that would not yet go West, Elrond finally made for Imladris. There they heard that Celebrían was in Lórien.

Glorfindel was not aware of any communication between the two, since the death of Gil-galad. From what he knew had passed between them before, he gathered that Elrond had wanted to bring the dealings in Middle-earth to a close, before settling down. It made him painfully aware of the fact that Elrond _still_ did not consider the affair finished, as long as the Ring still remained within the bounds of Middle-earth.

Then, word came of what would in time be called the Disaster of the Gladden Fields.

Not long after the shards of Narsil had arrived at Imladris, Estelmo, the squire of Isildur's son Elendur; the sole survivor of the catastrophe, was found and he revealed to them what had happened at the Gladden Fields. Glorfindel had watched Elrond carefully when Estelmo shared the last words between Isildur and Elendur. Words in which Isildur confessed he now understood he could never control the Ring, and of his intention to go to the Keepers of the Rings, having renounced his pride.

After taking his son's council to flee, Isildur reluctantly had placed the Ring upon his finger, with a cry of pain. He was never seen again by an eye upon Middle-earth, vanishing into the night, covering the blazing Elendilmir on his forehead with his hood.

The men he left behind, save one, would all lay dead ere long.

With Isildur, the One Ring was lost…

As Estelmo grew silent, something had flickered across the face of the Master of Imladris, stunning Glorfindel upon recognition… Guilt…

After the man left their presence, Elrond had retreated in his study. Slowly following, Glorfindel waited. Elrond's voice was soft when he spoke.

'If I had persuaded Isildur, if my mind had not been preoccupied, this all would have never happened.'

Shaking his head Glorfindel had been desperate to rid Elrond of his insecurities.

'Was it not my Lord Gil-galad that once said: 'we cannot change the grander scheme of things'?'

'It sounds like something he might have said.' Elrond had sighed, almost unnoticeably.

Isildur's wife had already been notified when first word came of Isildur's disappearance. Now that it became clear her husband had met some unknown fate, she immediately called upon Elrond to take her only remaining son, Valandil, into his care, fearing others would take advantage of the youthful heir.

Could he have refused? His own kinsman, son of Isildur?

Of course not…

Meeting in the library, Valandil seemed nervous. But his clear eyes, grey like his own, found Elrond's, unafraid.

'You know who I am?' Elrond asked, motioning the young man into a chair.

Valandil gave a nod.

'You are Master Elrond, Lord of Imladris, brother of my forefather Elros.'

Elrond smiled.

'Indeed I am… I fought alongside your father.'

Valandil looked at his feet, a little too short to reach the ground.

'They say my father is dead.'

Elrond raised an eyebrow. Could Valandil already grasp the meaning of the word? And if he did, was it possible to mourn the death of a father he could not remember? Elrond himself had never been truly able… Instead he now mourned for another…

'Your father disappeared when he was told to flee… The Silvan Elves would have found him, if he had still been in the vicinity.'

Valandil locked his gaze on his knee.

Elrond knew how it had to feel. He cleared his throat carefully.

'My father, he went to sea before I was old enough. I never got to know him as well as I would have liked.'

The boy glanced up.

'Is he really a star?'

'I believe he is… Have you seen the Evening Star?'

Valandil shrugged.

'My mother wishes me to stay inside after dark.'

'I'm sure she has her reasons…'

'Maybe I could see it, if you tell her…'

Elrond smiled broadly.

'I think that could be arranged…'

The boy looked at him, a certain excitement in his eyes.

'I would like that.'

Elrond watched him, a painful recognition in his heart. The first glimpse of a star, even _that_ star, at his age seemed more important to Valandil than the loss of a father. Before long, that would likely change, of course…

Suddenly Elrond vividly recollected Elros, only familiar with their parents through stories and songs. He had always been waiting for the messengers from the many havens, hoping they would bring some word. And even though he had warned him, countles times, not to expect such a message to come, Elros had continued doing it for many years.

Elrond smiled, driving away the memory and extended his hand.

'If there is something you want to ask, you can always come to me.'

The small hand was placed into the larger one and Elrond briefly held it.

As he watched the small figure walk into the hall, Elrond sighed deeply. This boy would mature so quickly, grow old so fast…

Elros had only once called him to Númenor. There he had found his brother white-haired and wrinkled, while he himself looked not a year older than when he had Chosen. He stayed to watch the slow death of the last person close to him. He had vowed to never do it again.

Yet losing Gil-galad had been worse.

When Elros died, it had been a loss, but expected. The death of an Elf was unnatural, a tragedy…

_You warned me not to engage in pointless ventures… But through my weakness and that of Isildur, Orodruin has become exactly that… The Ring is lost, it seems your death merely bought us time… The victory now seems fruitless, for what have we really conquered?_

Was he willing to go through that again? To give Valandil what Gil-galad had given him, only to loose him in the end? Or be lost himself, if the Ring found its way back into… Then she came into his thoughts.

'Celebrían…' he whispered, immediately deciding.

He could not risk letting her go through what he felt now… He wouldn't…

As Celebrían dismounted, before anyone had the chance to help her, tired and dirty from the wet roads. It was Glorfindel who welcomed her.

'My Lady, it is good to see you.'

'Is he here, Glorfindel?' she asked, not desiring small talk.

'In his study,' the Elf-lord answered, a smile playing around his lips.

Without asking further, or taking notice of her fellow travellers, Celebrían entered the main hallway that would lead to Elrond's study.

Glorfindel turned to the others.

'I shall escort you to quarters where you can refresh and rest.'

He had his back towards her when she entered.

Celebrían wasn't sure if she was to wait until Elrond acknowledged her or make a sound to make him aware of her presence. A moment later her ponderings were made moot.

'So you have returned to Imladris, my Lady? Are we to expect your parents as well?' he spoke, and turned towards her.

Her voice failed. It was as if she had to reacquaint herself with his face, the piercing eyes, the sternness they could exude.

Elrond studied her reaction, his head slightly tilted, his grey eyes meeting her blue ones, the expression on his face blank, but something hidden in those eyes, on the verge of showing.

'I hope your journey was… without trouble?'

Celebrían despised herself for doing so, but stepped back and bowed her head for a moment, in order to recover her voice.

'The roads are safe once again, Master Elrond. Discomfort is one of the few troubles travellers experience. My parents are in Lórien.'

Elrond frowned.

'I hope you have not travelled here alone? The roads are _not_ that safe.'

Celebrían realised her naiveté. _I should have remembered Isildur._ She tried not to show her own inward reprimand.

'I came with some of my father's messengers, no doubt you will speak with them later.'

'No doubt.' There was a slight weariness in his answer.

'I grieved over Gil-galad's passing, yours was a great loss…'

There was a certain defensiveness in Elrond's voice when he answered.

'We all lost something at Orodruin… Let us hope what we gained was worth it.'

He turned around and pressed his hands on the writing table he had been working on.

'I also regretted to hear about Isildur…' Celebrían started.

She watched the Lord of Imladris slightly shrug. He said nothing.

Celebrían was unsure on how to interpret it and simply followed his example of silence.

Elrond turned around again and strode over to the balcony, exchanging the shimmering darkness of the study for a place where the sun shone brightly. Celebrían followed slowly, noticing the smudges of mud on her travel clothing. She should have changed before coming here, instead of looking like some desperate girl, coming in from the road.

He spoke softly as he rested his hands on the carved balustrade.

'Have I fled so deep in duty that it has become a quagmire I cannot escape from?' It was not meant for her ears, Celebrían reflected, and for a moment she wondered, if he had indeed spoken aloud. Then she lightly rested her hand on his arm. Her voice was tender.

'Lore and insight bring their own pain… After millennia… Only mortals envy immortality. And only because they desire that which they cannot have.'

'They experience time differently from the way we do…' Elrond added, smiling down at her. Then his face darkened again. Before Celebrían could react he turned and made his way back inside.

_Why_ was he never as direct with her anymore? She had seen him speak his mind often before, but now he spoke to her in riddles.

'Sometimes you…'

Elrond turned back and Celebrían shook her head at him.

He raised his eyebrows at her, but did not turn away.

Celebrían pulled up her dresses and with a deep sigh left the study.

To her surprise he followed.

'Celebrían…'

When she turned towards him he was closer than she had expected.

'I would not ask you to bind yourself to me… I will release you from any vows you might have made.'

Celebrían felt her heart miss a beat.

'Is this the reason you stayed away?'

'It would not be fair to make you… I cannot… I hoped you would find another.'

The emotions Celebrían felt, were more intense than any before. For a moment she feared they would consume her.

'I know you were devoted to him… But do not fear to love, simply because you have lost…'

'I lost loved ones before you were even born… Do not…' Elrond turned away. 'I love, but I do not know how to…'

'We will learn together…' Celebrían looked at him. 'Even if you send me away, I will never love another again.'

Elrond raised his hand and rested it upon her cheek. Celebrían bowed her head and closed her eyes, her heart racing. Then she felt his lips touch her forehead. _Do not let it be that kind of a kiss_, she prayed to the Valar.

When she raised her head again, her eyes open, she saw him looking at her curiously. He shook his head.

'I thought…'

Celebrían smiled at him.

'For a master of lore, you take your time…'

He smiled tenderly before he brought his face closer still.

She could feel the warmth of his body through his clothing, making her want to hold him as close as possible, bury herself against him, to never let go again.

When their lips met it was fleetingly at first, perhaps both expecting the other to pull back in an expression of disinclination.

A flush slowly rose on both their faces, as Elrond pulled back, and Celebrían felt his breath quickening, when he raised his hand to her face again. When his lips touched hers once more, their embrace became more confident. The merging of lips more passionate… Probing… Exploring… Ending, it left both gasping for air. Celebrían rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the soft material of his robes on one of her cheeks, and the smooth texture of his skin on the other as he tilted his head to rest on hers.

Now that she was close enough to catch more than a whiff of his scent, it surprised Celebrían. Like every Elf she knew, Elrond smelled of the outside. But there was a certain freshness to it, something to do with his natural fragrance, merged with a touch of something sweeter, almost like herbs or flowers. It pleased her, not prominent, only detectable from very close by, like she was now. Her breath had become as quick as his.

'How long from now does your father expect you back?' He whispered, his voice unsteady, but the breath pleasant on her skin.

'I did not indicate a time.'

Elrond felt an urge of laughter and relief flow through him. Leaving a tingle on his skin he had never felt before.

'You will stay for a while yet?'

'If you wish it so, Master Elrond,' Celebrían's smile teased him.

'It would please me greatly…' he answered with an equally teasing grin.

Celebrían caught the collar of his robes and made him come close enough for her to kiss him, one of her hands on his cheek.

Then Elrond pulled her against him, his grip strong, as if he still feared she would go.

'I longed for you from the very beginning… But I never could have hoped for it, not after the period I was lacking… Not even when I became aware of you crossing the Bruinen only a short time ago.'

Celebrían looked at him.

'You knew I was coming?'

Elrond nodded, his hand on her throat, his thumb stroking the smooth skin.

'The first time I felt it, was when you were in the valley, before crossing the Southern bridge; I was standing on the other side with Gil-galad and Glorfindel and I was certain you would be there when I turned.'

Celebrían looked at him and suddenly her voice drifted into his mind.

_Im ista, meleth-nîn._

Elrond observed her amusement at his surprised expression, carefully moving his hand through the tresses of silver hair.

_Curious that Fëanor and Celebrimbor, grandfather and -son, both loved the same woman._

Celebrían caught one of the locks of Elrond's hair, her voice a whisper.

'You will never be like them. It is not in your blood.'

Elrond smiled, moving his thumb over her eyebrow. Then he bowed down, kissed her again, his hands carefully guiding her head, the flutter in his stomach increasing.

'Will you have me?' he whispered hoarsely as his lips moved over her face.

Celebrían answered him by softly whispering back:

'Do you still need to ask, meld'aran órenyo? We have already wasted so much time…'

She watched him close his eyes, bowing his head.

'Meleth-nîn…'

Celebrían embraced him and Elrond allowed her, his arms encircling her.

Then, slowly he pulled back.

'Deri-si…'

With long strides he went into the next room, leaving Celebrían for a moment, but returning almost as swiftly. Silently requesting her hand, he revealed a slender silver ring and placed it on her finger. Celebrían looked up at him.

Silently he placed another ring in the palm of her hand, his eyes carefully observing her reaction. Taking his hand, Celebrían slid the ring on Elrond's index-finger, before looking up.

'You would let me wait a year?'

Elrond smiled and ran his hand over her jaw, before following the line of her ear.

'Within that year you have the right to withdraw from the betrothal, and publicly return the ring.'

'It will not come to pass…' she answered, catching and kissing the palm of his hand. 'Come with me to Lórien…'

'I will…' Elrond replied, their hands joining. 'Let us travel there in two weeks.'

And so it happened that almost a month later Elrond and Celebrían arrived in Lórien, wearing identical silver rings, indicating to all their betrothal, and that in less then a year, they would be wedded.

It was then that Elrond truly acquainted himself with the enchantment of Lórien, never separated from Celebrían, always together, simply abiding their time until custom would allow them that which had been desired for so long.

Initially he was to return to Imladris after a little while, but he stayed, loathe to leave her whom he had so long missed, and only a month before their wedding, returned to Imladris for the final preparations.

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Im ista, meleth-nîn: I know, my love

meld'aran órenyo, literally 'beloved lord of my heart'. It comes from a poem written by Björn Fromén, Valinórenna (Celebrían's Farewell to Elrond) and it can be found at 

meleth-nîn = my love

Deri-si = wait here ('deri' means 'to wait' or 'to remain', 'si' means 'here')

The customs of Elvish marriage are described in Volume 10 of The History of Middle-earth 'Morgoth's Ring' edited by Christopher Tolkien.

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	10. Blessings

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Elrond, who had remained unwed through all his long years, now took to wife Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn of Lórien._  
**J.R.R. Tolkien, Volume 12 The History of Middle-earth**

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**Chapter 10 Blessings**

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'And how do I find Imladris, Erestor?' Elrond asked, walking beside his deputy and counsellor, pulling of his riding gloves by the tips of the fingers.

'You find it as you left it my Lord, very well, and rejoicing your forthcoming nuptials. The invitations have all been sent away, and the responses collected in your study.'

'Good,' Elrond replied, noticing Glorfindel descending the steps and coming towards them. 'Ah, meldir, it is good to see you.' Embracing Glorfindel with a vitality that had been long absent, he seemed to amuse the others.

Glorfindel smiled broadly, turning Elrond towards the Elf that had joined them.

'I wish you to meet an old acquaintance of ours…'

Elrond raised his eyebrows with a grin.

'Gildor! What brings you to Imladris?' They caught each others hands.

The golden-haired Elf smiled, and bowed shortly.

'Well, Master Elrond, it appears we have fallen in with good tidings. But I must confess your wedding was not the main reason for our coming. I join my kin as they travel to the Grey Havens… Yet I expect some will linger here and take advantage of your hospitality.'

'Our kinsmen of the House of Finrod are welcome, for whatever reason they decided to travel here. Tonight we shall have speech and merriment!' Elrond replied, his face shining, releasing Gildor and continuing his way into the house. Glorfindel and Erestor followed.

In the study, Elrond, with an amused look on his face, inspected several Elvish well-wishes.

'We expected you back before winter, but since you decided to stay in Lórien, the messages continued to accumulate…' Glorfindel said, smiling.

'Yes…' Elrond said, appearing to attentively study one of the letters. '…I couldn't very well cross the mountains during winter…'

For a moment both Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged a glace, more or less imagining what Gil-galad would have commented. Elrond narrowed his eyes, very well aware of what they meant. Glorfindel smiled apologetically.

'He would have enjoyed this.'

'I know,' Elrond returned with a delicate smile, putting down the piece of paper.

During the following weeks, the larger part of wedding guests began arriving. A certain expectancy could be discerned among the household members of the Last Homely House; so many last issues that needed to be discussed, unexpected occurrences. The buzz of activity was all-apparent, never ceasing, as voices, singing and talking, rejoiced in meeting those they had not seen due to the Days of Flight. The only peaceful place seemed to be the Master's own part of the House; his rooms, library and study.

There, Erestor, under the impression he was experiencing problems with appointing quarters for certain guests, was un-amused by Elrond's lack of interest for his dilemma.

'My Lord, by no means can I give King Thranduil quarters close to those of my Lord Celeborn…'

Elrond leant against the windowsill of one of the smaller windows in his library.

'The guests will behave themselves on this occasion, surely?' His tone was light.

Erestor looked at the Master of Imladris with dissatisfaction.

'And King Valandil, I cannot give him rooms near any of the other Men, since he will be attending the actual ceremony, and they will not…'

'You will find a solution, Erestor, perhaps you can relinquish your own rooms… Some things go above and beyond the call of duty…' Elrond teased absently. Erestor seemed to imitate one of his own stares towards Gil-galad years ago.

An exception had been made for Valandil, who Elrond held almost as dear as a son. No mortal had ever heard the blessing of an Elvish marriage, and Elrond had no intention on making Valandil the first, but he would be closer than any other of the younger Children of Ilúvatar had previously been. Celebrían had not minded, somehow sensing the importance of the request. Like she sensed most of his moods.

He missed her. Somehow this seemed strange, as they had been apart for so many years.

Elrond's anticipation for her arrival only subsided when, three days before the wedding, Valandil arrived, together with his wife and young son Eldacar. Almost ruling Arnor for a century, the pressure could be seen in his eyes; though not yet showing in his face. Elrond embraced him and shook hands with Eldacar, before welcoming the rest of the company. He hadn't seen the young man before, almost an adult, and was surprised to find a pair of blue eyes, as a strong hand caught his.

'Mae govannen, Eldacar,' He said, as he smiled down and observed an innocent face, trustingly looking back.

'It is good to see you like this,' Valandil said quietly to Elrond as they walked to the rooms Erestor had assigned them to. 'If you don't mind me saying.'

'Not at all.' Elrond returned. 'It seems everyone agrees.'

Could it be possible he was nervous?

Elrond became increasingly aware of it… As if his stomach had rotated… Anxiety… Wondering why he had Erestor invite so many…

'Stop it,' he reprimanded himself.

Círdan, who had arrived the day before, cast a somewhat worried look towards him, but joined it with a smile of understanding. They stood waiting, the entire household and guests, as the first of the group from Lórien began to arrive. Almost entirely at the back of the large group, half a length behind her parents, dressed in white, Celebrían emerged. A grey cloak around her shoulders, and like her mother, bearing white gems in her hair.

By tradition the bride was to receive a gift from the bridegroom's father, but since Eärendil had not left any such object, this tradition had been slightly altered; Celebrían wore a jewel, once a gift from Gil-galad to Elrond, around her neck. Much as Elrond himself wore a pendant Galadriel had given him upon his departure from Lórien.

Coming forward, shaking back his robes to free his hands, Elrond smiled.

'Imladris welcomes you all.'

Celeborn, guiding his daughter, bowed. Celebrían gave her most enchanting smile to Elrond, as all began to make their way to the banks of the Bruinen, where what had started so long ago would be sealed.

Here was where custom began to take the upper hand. Only Elves were allowed close proximity, while other guests, with the exception of Valandil, who was allowed to stand amongst the furthest Elves, stood somewhat removed.

Elrond was one of the first to arrive, Celebrían the last, led towards the river by her father.

Standing there together, both removed the silver rings they had worn for a year, and exchanged them. Stepping forward, Galadriel, her expression one of delight, joined the couple's right hands.

'Elbereth Gilthoniel, alae i erthad uin Elrond Peredhil a Celebrían ned Lórien.'

Glorfindel raised his melodious voice, acting as father of the bridegroom.

'Manwë Súlimo, alae i erthad uin Elrond iôn ned Eärendil a Celebrían iell ned Celeborn.'

Elrond looked down at Celebrían for a moment, raising his other hand and, with his index-and middle finger, moved a strand of silver hair out of her face. Then he took the golden ring Erestor presented, and placed it upon Celebrían's index-finger.

'Ilúvatar, galu am i erthad…'

Celebrían took the other ring from Erestor, and took Elrond's hand.

'Eru, aen manadhpant…' her soft voice returned, sliding the ring on his finger.

Elrond smiled captivatingly.

'…a uireb.'

Celebrían placed her hand on Elrond's cheek as he bent downwards to kiss her at last, after waiting so long… Upon merging, their lips were warm, and Elrond felt her cold fingers on his skin, making him even more aware. Celebrían's hand lingered as he pulled back, their eyes not yet ready to break away. Then, their faces beaming, they both turned towards the gathering and around them the cheering began, together with enthusiastic singing and music.

Elrond caught Celebrían's hand and folded it under his arm as he had done so often the last months, the closest they could be without… He playfully told himself off. _Not yet, wait a little, have patience…_ Celebrían gave his hand a short squeeze, suggesting to him she felt the same. He smiled and bit his lip, as she returned a mischievous smile.

All began making their way back towards the Last Homely House, where the festivities were waiting to commence. And even in Imladris, there had never before been so much singing and laughter, dancing and storytelling as on that day. Even during the dinner, few kept silent. An even smaller amount of people stayed at the table, so when Elrond finally rose from his seat and guided Celebrían to the Hall of Fire, many were already present, going before them, their singing and chanting echoing against the walls.

As the celebrations in Imladris continued well into the night, Celebrían offered her husband her hand, and quick and light, they left their guests, before they would be missed.

'Come herven…' she spoke softly to him, as they entered the gardens, keeping off the paths where many others stayed, pulling him closer, allowing him to kiss her, his hands flying over her body, touching and moving on… How often had they stood like this, fully aware that they would have to stop at a certain point… But not now, not anymore…

'Celebrían, do not tempt me so…' Elrond spoke, his voice hushed, his eyes glimmering, before bestowing his kisses on her face, her neck.

'I will not much longer…' she responded, pulling him along.

Their laughter sounded through the gardens as they sped through them, but none that heard gave much notice. And indeed when their absence was detected, it was decided not to seek them.

If it had, they would have been found on the highest of terraces, where once they had shared their first kiss, and there it was, far from everything, but close to the stars, that they shared all, completing their unbreakable bond.

Resting in each others arms afterwards, Celebrían whispered to him.

'When did you know you loved me?

Elrond's laugh sparkled.

'I knew, as soon as I rested my eyes on you for the very first time…'

Celebrían placed her head on her hand and looked at her lover.

'Were you afraid that if you confessed to love me, and I didn't return it, our houses would be un-friends? As happened when Fëanor begged my mother for a strand of her hair, and she would not yield it?'

'It is said he made the Silmarils with her hair in mind,' Elrond whispered, evading her question as he ran his fingers through her hair, shining in the moonlight.

'Rather the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, I believe,' Celebrían countered, 'but it is told her hair resembled them greatly.'

'Nevertheless…' Elrond spoke, his lips finding hers once more, stealing her breath, before pulling away again.

She smiled and caught the small pendant she had given him years earlier.

'You still wear it?'

'Hmm… Yes…' Elrond confessed, catching her hand. 'I never take it off for long.'

Celebrían sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, after pressing her lips against his body, which was now rapidly cooling down.

'You truly caught my heart when you came to find me in the forest…'

'_That_ early?' he posed, brushing his fingers against her skin.

'Didn't you notice, when you came to Edhellond?' Celebrían laughed up at him, as she wound a strand of his hair around her finger and softly pulled it. 'I was as enthusiastic as a young maiden.'

'You _were_ a young maiden,' Elrond provoked playfully, only to be rewarded with another mischievous tug at his hair. He continued, almost whispering. 'But even if I was not aware of it, Gil-galad was…'

'He perceived it from the starting out,' Celebrían nodded, slowly sitting up, touching his face. 'Shall we go back, my love?'

Elrond nodded in support of her appeal, and ended up fastening the back of her dress, which he had so carelessly undone before. Celebrían sat between his legs, her back towards him, and held her hair out of his way. As his precise fingers finished the last hook and eye, he bent forward to kiss her bare neck. Dropping her hair, Celebrían turned around and caught his face, pressing her lips against his forehead, before teasingly sweeping them along his lips. Hungrily he pulled her against him, falling back onto the pillowed bench.

Laughing loudly, Celebrían pulled him back up.

'Later, my Lord.'

Elrond gave her a good-humoured disappointed look, and she returned a teasing smile, rising.

Hand in hand they retraced their way back down, more serene then earlier.

The festivities went on for many days, and nights, a celebration of young lovers, of old ways. But deep down it was also a farewell to the glory of the Elves, for many realised, if they had not before, that their waning days had started.

It was a thought Elrond pushed away constantly, and while he had previously buried his thoughts in work, now he occupied himself with Celebrían, drawing from a zeal for life and merriment he had never before allowed.

Their devotion to each other was an open one, more evident and unofficial than in most Elvish unions.

Celebrían, possessing by far the most leeway with the Master of Imladris, would not shy from public showings of affection, and, at first to much surprise, since he was known for his reserve among many, Elrond never failed to answer.

Elrond had, quite early in their relationship, discovered Celebrían was a very tactile person. Finding himself in his study he would watch her enter, not yet aware of him, her hands sliding along the walls, bookcases, the delicate fingers lightly touching, her perceptive eyes ultimately finding and staying on him.

She would, in the same peaceful pace, come nearer, her eyes lighting up, and finally, touch him, his face, his hair; making him love her more than he ever considered possible. And while her hands would continue their search, her lips would find his, taking his breath away, together with his concentration.

'Come, herven…' she would whisper, just as that first time, and take him away, to the gardens, into the mountains, back to bed…

And all his reserve, all his wisdom and self-restraint would disappear like snow in spring. Beneath the cool white sheets of their bed, she would look at him, her blue eyes deeper every time he lost himself in them, and follow the outline of his forehead with a finger.

'Sometimes you scare me, because it seems you are two people,' she had once said.

'Who am I now?' Elrond had asked her, smiling down, his fingers tracing the sharp edge of her ear.

'Now you are my Elrond, my lover, my life…'

'And who is the other?'

'He is Imladris, my Master, my protector, stern and wise…'

'Am I not wise?' He had rebuked, laughing at her dreamy words, feigning offence.

Celebrían had kissed him before smiling back.

'You are kind as summer…'

And he could do nothing but take her in his arms and press himself against her, desperately wanting to fulfil her every wish. Then the whisper, her lips near his ear.

'Come to me…'

And he could do nothing but comply.

Urging him on, her hands through his hair, he had called out her name, not able to contain it, her voice afterwards whispering to him, her breath, as his own, quick and deep. Under him, close to his, her heart beating equally fast

Still, there were even moments when _Imladris_ succumbed to her.

When his preconceptions of old, running deep through the years, made him turn away from the many who asked for his help, she would come and sway him. Her hands, her very touch, making him calm down, his skin tingling, as if it were the first time.

Especially in the beginning there were moments too, when Celebrían knew he remembered Gil-galad. Something came over him, mainly when he was alone, tending to the business of Imladris and its responsibilities.

A blankness crossing his face, his eyes staring beyond, coldly, unseeing. His mind carefully guarded, not a hint trickling out to her. Perhaps it was this unusual lack of sharing that made her immediately aware of it.

Seeking him out, and joining him, he would lower his guard after a while and she learned what was in his heart, and they shared it.

Their marriage was still, by Elvish standards, in its early stages, when Elrond, one late spring morning after attending his duties, found Celebrían silently at the window, her thoughts, apparently, on higher plains. Careful not to startle her, he embraced her from behind.

'What troubles you, meleth-nîn?'

Celebrían smiled and, leaning back, sought his body for support.

'I thought you might have guessed already.'

Elrond carefully rotated around her, facing her for a moment before smiling.

'How long?'

'Only for a little while. I will send word to my mother, for I will not visit her now.' She moved her hand along his collar, pulling him closer.

Celebrían, during nearly every spring since their marriage, visited Lórien. Sometimes he had gone with her, but they had decided he would not this year. Now, they would not separate, since it went against the customs of the Eldar to be apart during the bearing of a child.

'From great delight and joy, the days of the children shall come.' Elrond smiled, as he placed his hand on her abdomen. Then he raised his eyebrows, and when he spoke his voice was a whisper. 'Gwanûn?'

Celebrían had waited for him to make the discovery himself, and now observed him with great pleasure in her eyes.

'If it pleases my Lord.'

'It pleases me…' Elrond responded, kissing her deeply. '…very much.'

And almost a year later Celebrían gave birth to twin boys, and they were called Elladan and Elrohir.

Elrond could never get enough of watching them, asleep beside each other, between him and Celebrían, their faces relaxed, small fists clenched, eyes closed, not a fear in the world. Their dark hair and grey eyes were his, yet their appearance was Celebrían's, more beautiful to him than anything in the world.

Before the end of their first year they would have learned to speak and walk; elf-children were soon to master their bodies. But for now, if awake, they only seemed to listen, when their parents spoke of what lay in the future. For Elrond knew; there would come a time when they too had to make a decision.

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meldir: friend (masc.)

the Days of Flight: the period when Sauron attempted to scatter the Elves in certain parts of Middle-earth

Mae govannen: Sindarin 'well met'

Elbereth Gilthoniel, alae i erthad uin Elrond Peredhil a Celebrían ned Lórien: Elbereth Gilthoniel, behold the union of Elrond Halfelven and Celebrían of Lórien.

Manwë Súlimo, alae i erthad uin Elrond iôn ned Eärendil a Celebrían iell ned Celeborn: Manwë Súlimo, behold the union of Elrond son of Earendil and Celebrían daughter of Celeborn.

Ilúvatar, galu am i erthad…: Ilúvatar, blessings upon the union…

Eru, aen manadhpant…: Eru, may it be blissful…

…a uireb: …and eternal.

The customs described here are loosely based upon those given in Volume 10 of the History of Middle-earth, by Christopher Tolkien. The blessings are my own, as is any mistake that lies within them.

herven: husband

meleth-nîn: my love

gwanûn: a pair of twins

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	11. Proper Requirements

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_So much alike were they, the sons of Elrond, that few could tell them apart: dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces elven-fair…_  
**From Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 11 Proper Requirements**

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'Ada!' Elladan called as he came running back. 'Elrohir has caught one again.'

Elrond absently rested his hand on the head of his oldest son as his eyes tried to find the younger.

'Has he now?'

The other boy came running; his hands carefully clasped around the waist of a snow-white rabbit, which, actively kicking with its hind legs, was desperately trying to get away.

As he neared Elrond and Elladan, perhaps the thought of impressing his father got the better of Elrohir; in any case, the animal saw chance to free itself. There was an expression of amazement on the boy's face before he dove onto the ground, trying to reclaim his prize. To no avail. Elrond watched it hop into some low brush, out of the reach of small hands.

'You fell well…' Elladan mocked, and Elrohir returned a deadly look.

'I did not _fall_.'

Elrond smiled as he extended his hand to him.

'Let me see your arms.'

Only now did Elrohir observe the scratches on his lower arms, made by the sharp nails. Disappointed, he showed them to his father. Elrond squatted for an inspection. Only after assuring himself they were superficial he looked at Elrohir's face.

'They must hurt.'

The boy shrugged, and Elrond inwardly laughed, pulling him close. The small arms closing around his neck, he picked him up and motioned Elladan.

'Come on, we are going back.'

It didn't take long for Elrohir to wriggle himself off his father's arm, and join his brother, leaving Elrond to walk by himself. As long as their voices were discernable, he would allow them to wander. Celebrían didn't like it when he did, but Elrond knew they liked it better that way… Besides, what could happen…

A roar, of panic or laughter, it was hard to tell, echoed through the forest along the North-Bruinen. Elrond's head snapped towards the sound and he dashed off, into the direction of the water. Once there, he grasped the situation immediately. Elrohir stood along the banks, his face red, pointing at his brother, laughing. Elladan sat in the water, abashed, apparently having slipped during some sort of game. Elrond took a quick step and pulled the older of the twins out of the water by the tunic.

'What has passed now?' he asked with a sigh, eyeing his son curiously.

_Why does this not happen when your mother is with us?_

'I was… I… The mud… I slipped…'

Elrond had to hold back a laugh as he looked at Elladan standing before him, soaked to the bone. The expression on his face was priceless. He tried to look stern.

'Come on, and do not wander off again, for I fear you shall break something.'

During the walk back, both stayed at his side, albeit reluctantly. Reaching the house he sent Elladan to change and took Elrohir with him into his study.

Lifting him onto the table, Elrond went in search of some salve to put on the scratches. Returning, he pulled a chair close and opened the container to apply some. Elrohir watched.

'Am I Halfelven too?'

Elrond smiled and looked up.

'Why do you ask?'

'You are?'

'Yes, you know I am,' Elrond answered. There had never been any secrecy about it, especially not from Celebrían's side. She never failed to stress that, in her opinion, Elrond had the best of both worlds. If he was in a really melancholy mood, he might disagree. Not so today.

'Well, I want to be too.'

Elrond laughed and closed the salve's container.

'You are almost Halfelven.'

'Why?'

'Because of your mother being entirely Elvish.'

'What's Halfelven?'

'Being half Man and half Elf.'

'Oh.'

Elrond waited for another volley of questions, but Elrohir sat silent.

How could he not love them, with such questions always, he and his brother? Elrond raised a hand and tucked a dark braid behind his son's ear.

'You can be anything you like, you know? If you set your mind to it.'

'Halfelven?'

'Well,' Elrond smiled indulgently, 'almost anything.'

'Can I be a Lord?'

'Certainly you can.'

For now, it seemed to please Elrohir and he jumped off the table.

'Can I ride a horse?'

Elrond raised his eyebrows. Wanting to be a Lord was one thing; it was safely in the future, but riding a horse was another.

'We shall see.'

'Am I allowed to go to the stables?'

'No…' A voice came from the other side of the room. Elrond smiled as she neared them.

Elrohir raised his arms towards his mother and Celebrían lifted him, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

'How did this happen?' she asked, directed more towards Elrond than their son.

'I caught a rabbit,' Elrohir explained, his eyes glimmering. At the same moment Elladan entered and Celebrían pressed her lips together, shortly closing her eyes. His hair was dishevelled; braids partially undone, if not entirely, and a dark smudge of mud could still be discerned on his forehead. His clothes were spotless.

Elrond caught his son's eye and quietly pointed at his forehead, trying to convey the presence of the mark. Elladan didn't seem to understand and smiled broadly at his mother. Celebrían lowered Elrohir and walked over to the cabinet where she collected a comb and a handkerchief.

With an amused look she removed the mud, showing Elladan the dirt, before salvaging what she could of his carefully interwoven hair. Her hands worked fast and Elrond sat silently watching, enthralled by her fingers moving so methodically. Finishing, she turned Elladan around and smiled at him forgivingly, before kissing his forehead.

'Go play with your brother, but do not go too far.'

'May we go to the garden?'

'You may.'

As they ran off, their voices already continued the ever-present conversation, and Celebrían looked at Elrond.

'A rabbit and a river?'

Elrond nodded.

'Would make for a good story…'

Celebrían shook her head.

'And a horse…'

'Hmm…' Elrond returned, leaving his chair and catching Celebrían's hand as he peered over to the window. 'We know it has to come of it sooner or later.'

Celebrían rose as well and together they moved to the window, keeping their offspring in sight. Resting her head against Elrond's shoulder, she knew he was right, and that she was being protective. But they would be hers for such a short time, ten maybe twenty years, before they would indeed leave and ride and fight and in another century become Lords, and, while they would still be her sons, they would not be… Well…

Elrond smiled as he caught her stream of thought, pulling her closer.

Down on the grass, the twins had gathered somewhat weak-looking branches, which had suddenly become swords.

'I shall be a Lord,' Elrohir called, launching at his brother with the twig.

Elladan countered the attack with his own.

'If you can, so can I.'

'You have to ask Ada first.'

'Then I shall.'

Pushing his brother off, Elladan called up to the large window, where he observed his parents.

'I can be a Lord too, Ada?'

'Of course, Elladan,' Elrond called back, kissing Celebrían.

She rested her hand on his chest as she looked up.

'Can you tell them to be careful with those sticks?'

'They will be fine.'

Elrond didn't see the harm in it. Maybe the danger of some bruises, but no real hazard. In not too distant future, they would be climbing trees and jumping from rocks, which worried him more.

In their dark-blue tunics and trousers, they looked very alike, and most members of the household solved any identity problems by simply always referring to both of them. But Elrond never had any trouble telling them apart. Not with the help of physical characteristics really; one was simply Elladan, and the other Elrohir. The older twin might seem quieter, more reserved, but it was only show. The younger had much to say, but needed more encouragement in expressing his thoughts.

'Were you as restless as they are?' Celebrían asked.

Elrond slowly shook his head.

'I might have been when younger… I think I never really had the time to be restless. In that time one had to grow up fast.'

'Faeg hên,' Celebrían teased, and Elrond returned a grin, moving his hands over her face, touching her soft hair. They were lost in each other for a moment, oblivious to their surroundings, their minds one, only seeing, feeling the other. Sensitive of the memories both held, of present moods. Of devotion beyond all else… Elrond broke the link reluctantly, an apologetic look in his eyes.

'Let us go to dinner,' he whispered. Celebrían nodded, not having heard what her husband evidently had; a single chime of the bell. Calling for his sons, Elrond offered his arm to his wife. The boys were quick to follow.

Elrond carefully observed their every movement, as they sat on either side of their mother, across from Glorfindel and Erestor. Elrohir seemed eager to share his new-found career choice with one who already held the title, pride in his voice when he told Glorfindel: 'I am going to be a Lord too.'

Glorfindel smiled, glancing at Elrond, who tried not to return it too broadly, lest his son might think he was mocking him.

'So am I,' Elladan eagerly added, making sure that no mistake could be made about it.

'And what is the occupation of a Lord?' Glorfindel asked, handing Elrohir some bread, observing the small Elf-child with delight.

'Riding horses, and fighting, with a sword,' came the reply.

'Nothing more?' Glorfindel asked, as if he needed to make sure he was observing the proper requirements. 'For I fear I might not be a Lord after all, if that is the case.'

'Writing on papers,' Elladan offered, as he tasted some bread. 'Ada does it all the time.'

'Ah, there is something,' Glorfindel answered, relieved, glancing at Elrond, who attempted to hide a broadening grin.

Celebrían had more success.

'Elrohir, do not forget to eat.'

Elrond sat on the balcony as he heard the sound of bare feet moving towards him. With a jump Elladan landed next to him, followed by Elrohir, who climbed onto his lap.

'Ah, there you are. Ready for bed?'

Elrohir rested his head against Elrond's shoulder while Elladan pointed up towards the darkening evening sky.

'Can we stay for a little while longer?'

Celebrían joined them on the balcony and sat down next to Elrond, catching his hand.

'Can they?' he asked, flashing a smile at her.

Celebrían smiled back, not giving an answer, content as it was.

Elladan sat silent, patiently waiting for the stars to appear, while Elrohir had a hard time keeping his eyes open. Elrond felt his son's breath slow down and the muscles in the small body relax.

'What is the ship called again?' he asked drowsily, not opening his eyes, close to dreaming.

'It was called Vingilot, the…'

'Foam-flower…' Elladan inserted, his eyes still on the sky.

Elrond smiled and pulled Elladan closer.

'… with golden oars and white planking, coming from the trees of Nimbrethil.'

'Tell of the sails…' Elladan whispered, sleepiness now also overcoming him.

'Like the silvery white of the moon, sometimes coloured blue by the night sky, but always reflecting the stars the ship sails alongside of.'

'Car-cuinar îdh?' Celebrían whispered, looking over Elrond's shoulder.

He nodded, observing, realising their trust in him to watch over them, sleeping so soundly. Carefully Celebrían rose and took Elladan in her arms, and Elrond followed her example, rising with Elrohir. Together they brought the twins to their room, lingering there, marvelling about their innocence and delight in the world around them, not as yet consumed by the fire of spirit. The burden of memory still light.

Celebrían pulled him out of the chamber, careful not to wake her sons as her hands explored her lover's body.

'Im mîl le…' Elrond whispered into her ear, his lips caressing the skin of her neck, his hands slowly moving, awakening even more passion inside her. Celebrían's hands had reached sensitive skin, usually hidden by clothing, and he shuddered under her touch, as his mouth hungrily found hers, a soft moan escaping him as he exhaled.

Celebrían, ignoring Elrond's unwillingness to remove his hands from her body, slipped off the thin grey robes he wore over his tunic and trousers, her hands following the contours of his shoulders and chest before unfastening the buttons of his tunic. As she restrained his hands with her own, her lips against his bare skin, Elrond threw back his head and closed his eyes. If he wished, he could easily escape from her grasp, yet he chose not to, undergoing delicious torment holding back, simply subjecting to her.

'Let us go to Lórien…' she whispered in between kisses.

'Ah, there is the reason for this…' he teased hoarsely, trying to control his breathing, before biting his lower lip.

'Of course…' Celebrían melodiously returned, softly biting his neck, releasing his hands to free her own and continue her tenders. Their bodies close, she guided him, and he let her, and it was so.

Galadriel watched the youngest twin, going from one foot to the other, his hands behind his back. Her own daughter's features were apparent in both boys, but it was Elrond they resembled more strongly.

She had observed an obvious and deep devotion in the young family, both between parent and child as well as parent to parent. Her daughter had changed. Elrond had changed. Galadriel observed the touches between them, those of accustomed lovers, but still possessing a profound passion for the flesh she only vaguely recalled herself. The weight of years, with all their changes of desire and thought, had changed the impulses and moods of her body long ago.

Elrond pushed Elrohir forward, and Galadriel smilingly looked down at her grandson, who stared back before grinning. Elladan had already stepped forward, bowing shortly, his eyes revealing more knowledge of her than he let on.

Celebrían's arm was linked with Elrond's as she watched two generations meet. Galadriel and Celeborn had visited Imladris when she had just given birth, but now that her sons were old enough to undertake the journey to Lórien, Celebrían had been eager to show them her birthplace.

Elrond stepped towards the Lady Galadriel, bowing his head as a greeting.

Her voice was soft as she spoke, a smile embedded in her face.

'You experience Lórien as the one painfully hidden in your heart did Imladris.'

He examined her face without any expression on his own.

'Does the Lady of the Wood know my heart so well?'

'One of us does…' Galadriel smiled, her gaze turning and resting on her daughter.

Meanwhile, Elrohir decided his grandmother might be wise and beautiful, but that his grandfather was a more interesting companion. He was likely to know more about horses…

Leaving the twins with their grandparents, Elrond and Celebrían wandered off, amidst the trees and almost magical lights.

Elladan wandered also, but stayed near his grandfather and brother. He liked everything about Lórien, except that he could not find a clearing between the branches of the trees, as the darkness slowly blanketed the woods.

He did not know how much time had passed when he discovered his parents. His father had taken the time to change, and was now dressed in a grey tunic and trousers, all closer to his skin than the loose robes he wore at home. Elladan had never seen him barefoot in public before. With quick treads he ran towards them, but instead of being surprised, his father caught him with an even quicker movement.

'And who walks there?' Elrond asked as he caught and lifted the Elf-child. Celebrían laughed as she put her hand on Elladan's back.

'Do you dislike Lórien that you walk so fast?'

'It is because I cannot see the stars,' Elladan complained.

'Ah, but that can be remedied,' Elrond answered, carrying the boy nearer to the ancient trees, and climbing one of the stairways, Celebrían following. Once at the top, his other arm around his father's neck, Elladan pointed upwards as he always did and smiled contently.

'There they are.'

Outside a faraway echo of thunder rolled, but Elrond slept on, though his sleep had turned restless. As sometimes happens, he knew he dreamt, but did not wake, not seeing the need, not yet.

Darkness, even in his dream, horses, outside, as if on the road…

The unrest of the horses became apparent, feeling danger sooner than its riders, even if they were Elves… Stopping, deliberating…

Then something emerged, but instead of seeing it, he felt the emotion of the riders, strangely persistent… Flee! His muscles flexed as he tried to escape from the nightmare, expecting something to pierce his flesh, to make the final kill… But he couldn't, as if something kept him there, just as it came into his field of vision… Poison, torture, death…

Suddenly, as if his mind shut down he was awake, still feeling… Almost seeing…

'No…' His voice sounded deafening in the silence of the night. He sat up and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Desperately he tried to recollect what he had seen, what had scared him out of… He felt it before, a long time ago, shortly before the Last Alliance. He had predicted death… But not his own, never his own… But close…

Then Celebrían's cool hands on his sweat-covered skin, reassuring. Somewhere deep down they were always sharing their dreams, and something that could wake him with such force was worrisome.

'Tis a dream, Elrond, melethron… Be still…'

His heart pounded in his throat, in his head. And he fled into her arms, as she softly whispered to him, stroking his hair.

'Sssh,' he heard near his ear, her lips touching his warm skin. 'It was only a dream.' Her arms folded around him and he buried his face against her chest, searching for the bliss of sleep again. Only a dream…

Celebrían woke of singing. Opening her eyes she was confronted with Elrond, his back towards her as he sat on his side of their bed, fastening the small buttons of his delicate tunic with his slender fingers.

Extending her arm and touching his firm back, she caught his attention. He ceased singing and turned around.

'Good morning, gwilwileth.'

'Have the shadows passed?' Celebrían asked him, settling back into the pillows.

'With the coming of morning…' Elrond smiled, bending towards her, his hands resting on either side of her, as he bestowed a kiss upon her lips.

'What was it you saw?' She asked, holding on to him a little longer.

Elrond shook his head, averting his eyes. Celebrían touched his face and he returned to watch her.

'I know not, I think my mind saw no place for it and pushed it away…'

_What can be so terrible for you to push it away?_

Then the answer, reassuring, but still disconcerting.

_I know not, my love._

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Ada: Sindarin (shortened version of adar: father) father, daddy

Faeg hên: poor child

Car-cuinar îdh: Do they rest?

Im mîl le…: I love thee…

melethron: lover

gwilwileth: butterfly

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	12. Everlasting Respect

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night; yet queenly she looked, and thought and knowledge were in her glance, as of one who has known many things that the years bring._  
**From Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 12 Everlasting Respect**

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The sound of two young men, just into their first century, reached the largest study of Imladris. With a smile its Master left his books and notes, making his way down.

Elrohir stood closest; waiting for his brother to finish his conversation with Glorfindel, before going up to greet their father. As Elrond neared, he turned and smiled, stepping towards him for an embrace.

'Tis good to see you,' Elrond spoke, as Elladan approached as well. 'I hope you left Lórien well?'

'Lórien is always well, Adar,' Elladan grinned, allowing his father to pull him close, very aware of the reason behind the query. 'And mother as well, but she did not indicate the time of her return.'

'She asked us to ride on without her,' Elrohir added.

Elrond smiled half-heartedly and motioned the twins inside, where lunch was being set.

They had travelled to Lórien, together with Celebrían, at the beginning of spring. After a short stay there, the brothers had ridden on to visit the newly crowned king of Gondor, Earendil, on an errand of their father: bringing well wishes from Imladris. Returning, they had travelled via Lórien, and Elrond had hoped the twins would bring news of Celebrían's return.

He was always glad to receive notice of her homecoming.

It was not exceptional for a husband and wife to dwell separately for periods of time. Elrond understood and respected Celebrían's desire to house in Lórien, even if it was only for short periods every couple of years. But Celebrían's absence made him restless. She always tried to persuade him to accompany her, she had before leaving less then a month ago. But too often his responsibilities kept him here, at Imladris, like they had this time.

Silently he watched his sons eat; hungry as ever, as if they wished to grow taller still. Elladan winked at Elrohir seeing his father drifting off into thought.

Elladan's conversation with Glorfindel had been to relay a message from his mother. A message his father was not meant to hear.

_'Make certain the Lord of Imladris is not informed of the Lady's imminent arrival.'_

When Elrohir told Elrond that their mother asked them to ride on without her, he had spoken the truth. He had merely omitted the fact that it had not been in Lórien, but at the river Bruinen, where they had parted.

Only Elrond's drifting saved the plan from being discovered, Elrohir pondered. When they had been younger, he had only needed a single glance at them to discover mischief. Now, he seemed preoccupied.

Little over an hour later, just as Elladan had said, Celebrían dismounted and greeted Glorfindel. Her cheeks had a blush on them. He suspected it was not from the journey. Rather it was the thought of being reunited with her husband. Her visit to Lórien had been short; less than a month.

'My Lady, welcome back,' he smiled, offering his arm.

'Thank you, Glorfindel,' she answered, accepting it. 'How is he? Did he notice?'

Glorfindel smiled broadly.

'He is entirely unsuspecting, my Lady.'

Celebrían's lips curled upwards and her face began to shine.

'Good…'

She laughed inwardly at her own nervousness. Well over a century into their marriage, and Elrond could still do that to her. Celebrían had to be careful not to lower her guard now, or he would immediately sense her presence.

'Do you want to change and freshen up first?' Glorfindel asked, bringing her back to the early summer beauty of Imladris and its more private hallways. She shook her head.

'I cannot… He will learn of my presence if I do… The library?'

Glorfindel nodded.

'After lunch he returned to his work and your sons retired…'

Celebrían patted Glorfindel's arm as she released it.

'I will go to him right now, thank you Glorfindel.'

As Glorfindel watched the Lady of Imladris ascend the steps which led to one of the library entrances, he did not find it hard to understand Elrond's dedication to her. He considered she brought joy back into the heart of Imladris, in more ways than one.

Celebrían almost held her breath as she entered the library, finding her husband, still not aware of her presence, standing at one of the large massive tables, studying one of the many large leather-bound volumes. His dark hair, partially braided so it would keep out of his face when he sat writing, flowed over his back, somewhat shorter than her own. It was difficult to keep her thoughts from him, watching his face, the light of the heavens shining in it, just as in his father's. The beauty and wisdom of the Eldar, with the strength and power of endurance of the Men of old…

Celebrían watched him leave the table, collecting a smaller volume from a nearby bookshelf, turning the pages at the spot, his back towards her.

Losing her patience, Celebrían quietly neared him, trying not to let the rustling of her travel clothing notify him of her arrival. Anticipation soared inside her and she felt the blood stream into her cheeks again. As she reached Elrond, she slipped her arms underneath his, pressing the right side of her face against his back, feeling the body-warmth, smelling his scent. His heartbeat increased under her touch, her hands resting on his chest. 'Suilad, herven,' she whispered.

Elrond, turning and catching her in an embrace, raised an eyebrow. Suddenly he seemed very aware of being somewhat misled.

'You will never cease to tease me, will you, gwilwileth?'

Celebrían smiled and a tender kiss ensued, while she took the book from his hands, replacing it upon the shelf.

'Forgive me, my love,' she whispered, as a glimmer in his eyes indicated he already had, with her first touch. She had missed him as well, glad his face so vividly returned the sentiment. Seizing his hand she pulled him towards the balcony.

'Sit with me for a while…' she requested, pulling him down onto the bench, the same bench where they had sat so many times before, both together and with the boys when they were younger.

And all was well again, peace returned in Elrond's heart; what was missing had been returned. And yet…

'Tell me why you have returned so soon…'

Now Celebrían raised an eyebrow with a smile.

'I can go back to Lórien… But you will have to come with me.'

'And why is that?' Elrond asked as he settled back, genuinely wondering at first, until it began to dawn on him. He frowned at her, his eyes beginning to glimmer once again. 'You do not mean…?' he whispered, catching her hand.

'I discovered when I was in Lórien…' Celebrían returned, her breath quickening once again, folding her hand into his. 'You know I would not have gone otherwise.'

Elrond smiled broadly as he looked at his wife.

'You know how I have longed for this…'

Celebrían smiled and pulled him up with her, embracing him once again.

'We have together…'

Elrohir's attention was immediately seized when he heard his father's laugh, a rare occurrence. A smile was common, certainly, but a discernable laugh… It could only mean his mother had arrived.

Evidently, Elladan had come to the same conclusion. The two brothers met each other on the terrace linking their rooms.

'That was father, was it not?' he asked, as if he needed confirmation.

'I think so…' Elrohir grinned, walking to the balustrade and leaning over, trying to catch a glimpse of the Lord and Lady of Imladris, but not succeeding.

'And what could be so amusing?' Elladan enquired, as he followed his brother's example.

'I'd rather know why mother wished to return so hastily…' Elrohir replied.

'You did not perceive any signs of illness, did you?' Elladan asked, narrowing his brow in the same fashion his father always did.

'No, nothing… She seemed perfectly content to come back with us, eager even…'

For a moment both seemed to consider. Then their heads slowly turned towards each other.

'You have to be joking…' Elladan whispered, as a smile crept across Elrohir's lips. The next moment both were in a fit of laughter, happiness and awkwardness equally represented.

'I shall not be able to face either of them for at least a week,' Elladan grinned, running down the steps, down into the garden, Elrohir not far behind.

'Where are you going?'

Elladan, snorting with laughter, had a hard time forming the words.

'To the library, of course, to see if they are there.'

'I wager it shall be a girl…'

'What will you wager?'

'Everlasting respect…'

'You have yourself a bet, little brother.'

Somehow anticipating the objective of their sons, Elrond and Celebrían had already exchanged the library for the gardens.

However much Celebrían loved Lórien, there was no denying that Imladris was magnificent in summer. The rays of sunlight warmed her skin as she and Elrond strolled beneath the glorious trees, the leaves softly rustling. Somewhere, unseen as ever, the river; streaming water clattering onto the rocks.

She let herself be pulled closer by Elrond, his lips finding hers once again, before he voiced caressing whispers, his fingers slipping over her face, her neck.

Was this the stern, serious person, once Vice Regent to Gil-galad, that she had fallen in love with so many years ago? Not that it mattered; possibly she loved him even more now.

Over the years she had discovered so much love, devotion, in him as well. All of it had lain hidden, somewhere deep down, where it could not hurt him. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that had only been a century and a half ago. There was so much to give…

He led her to the river, and sitting together, Celebrían rested her head against his chest, feeling his arms around her, his heart beating, his breath ever so serene.

'I wish we could stay here forever…' she whispered, resting her hand on his stomach.

'We can,' Elrond smiled, playing with her hair as it fell over her shoulder. 'I will order everything we need right over here and we can…'

Celebrían sat up and pulled his ear.

'Do not tease me…'

Elrond laughed and pulled her close again.

'So, you can tease me, but I cannot tease you?'

Celebrían smiled broadly.

'Precisely.'

Elrond smilingly shook his head and pulled her into a passionate embrace, feeling her hands resting comfortably on his body.

Elrond cupped his hands together, his elbows resting on the balustrade, as if he wished to catch the rays of the late afternoon sun within them. The warmth collected over his body; on the bare skin of his hands and face.

The blossom on the trees, the blue flowers that reared their heads from amongst the blades of grass, all seemingly called to him; announcing summer.

But he was well aware of the fickleness of spring. It would not surprise him in the least if, by next week, a cold wind from the mountains would sweep through the open hallways of the Homely House.

And still he was content, this single moment, hearing birds chattering and catching fragments of conversations between inhabitants of his house. The careful whisper in the rooms within, where Celebrían rested.

For a moment expectancy was hidden in his heart, and he did not miss the nervous urgency that had been on him before.

A breeze caught the lighter strands of his hair for a moment, and he took pleasure in its refreshing of his heated skin.

Too hot the coming summer would be, he predicted. One of those that would force him into the breezy library during the hottest days, while the cooler ones would make it wonderful to meander in the woods, together with Celebrían.

Glorfindel sat near, eyes closed in sustained enjoyment, his hair gleaming brightly as it reflected the sun, his hand under his head.

Both were up when the call came, not entirely unexpected.

'My Lord, it has started.'

Elrond was back at his wife's side, leaving Glorfindel waiting on the balcony, as he had once before.

'How can such little living things make us feel even smaller?' Elrond's voice was soft as he carefully moved his fingers over the dark hair on the girl's head.

Celeborn smiled, his hand resting on Elrond's shoulder, who cradled the small girl in his arms. Amazed, once again, by the gift of love.

'A daughter is special, my friend, very special indeed.'

Galadriel who sat beside Elrond nodded slowly, agreeing with her husband.

Elrond smiled, not able to take his eyes of the child in his arms.

Elladan and Elrohir stood nearby and carefully studied their father, as he held their sister. Both were well aware of his longing for another child.

It had taken longer than expected, Elladan mused privately, at once reprimanded by his brother, who gave him a short poke. _Everlasting respect. _Elrohir reminded him.

Looking from Celeborn to Galadriel, Elrond smiled apologetically.

'I must return.'

Pressing the bundle carefully against his chest, he entered the bedroom where Celebrían waited. Elrohir neared Glorfindel as they watched him cross the threshold.

'Do you suppose they will fuss less about us now?'

'She is beautiful,' Elrond whispered to Celebrían, sitting down on the bed beside her. Celebrían watched him as the child rested in his arms, the small fingers closing around his larger ones, or the occasional braid of hair that came within range. Stretching her hand, Celebrían touched his cheek.

'She has your face…'

Elrond leant over and kissed her, before his eyes returned to his daughter.

'Is that a good thing?'

'It is…' Celebrían smiled.

Celebrían's hand found Elrond's without difficulty, as he listened to Arwen's soft singing, the little girl walking only a few paces ahead of them. It was difficult to explain how much both of them meant to him. Especially now… He felt Celebrían increase the pressure on his hand, and he smiled down at her, thankful. She knew the pain in his heart.

Valandil was dying. He had made his final journey here, not two months ago, relinquishing the throne to his son Eldacar. They had talked much, the last couple of evenings, but Elrond knew the end was nearing, at too fast a pace. Much too fast… He needed these peaceful moments with his family, to gather the endurance to help him through the evenings.

Arwen turned and ran towards them. Elrond released Celebrían's hand to lift his daughter onto his arm. She giggled while placing her hand on her father's shoulder, smiling down at her mother from her elevated position.

They were returning home, as Elrond was not willing to go too far. It was Glorfindel who came towards them, not running, but his pace too quick for comfort. He only had to give Elrond a single look to relay the situation. Kissing Celebrían, he caught her hand briefly, before lowering Arwen, and joining Glorfindel.

Valandil died during the twilight of that same evening, with both Glorfindel and Elrond at his side. It was a peaceful passing, and Elrond thanked the Valar for at least that. It had drained him. When he at last exchanged Valandil's rooms with his study, sitting by the small fire there, collecting his thoughts, a small hand was placed on his arm. With a thankful glance at Celebrían, who had sent Arwen in, he pulled his daughter unto his lap. Resting her head against his shoulder, she simply played with his hair, staying silent.

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir, at the age Arwen now was, had been tranquil enough to sit with him as she presently did. Pensively, he kissed her forehead, making her look up at him.

'Ada, can we watch the stars?'

He nodded and rose from the chair, pressing her against him. Her small arms were firmly around his neck as he carried her to the balcony. Only as she saw the sky did she loosen her grip. Fingering his collar, her eyes upturned towards the heavens, her voice was a whisper.

'What is the Evening Star, Ada?'

His voice was equally soft when he answered.

'The most important star of all, my little one. It leads travellers on their way, it gives light in darkness… Like you are my Evenstar, my Undómiel.'

She rested her head against his shoulder, and it was only when Celebrían touched his back, after he did not know how long, that he noticed she was asleep.

They crossed the silent hallways of the Last Homely House, bringing the sleeping Elf-child to her bedroom, not far removed from their own rooms. Elrond watched Celebrían pull back the sheets on the bed before he carefully placed his daughter in the large bed. He could have sat there the entire night, simply because it gave him peace.

Celebrían motioned him away after a while, and only then did he feel the tiredness flowing through his body.

Elrond never expected anyone else to adopt the name he had given to his daughter, and he was not quite sure when it exactly began. But by the time she had reached maturity, she was Arwen Undómiel, no longer just the evenstar of her father, but that of her people.

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'Suilad, herven.' : Greetings, husband

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	13. Guests

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_Wizard is a translation of Quenya istar _[…]_: one of the members of an "order" (as they call it), claiming to possess, and exhibiting, eminent knowledge of the history and nature of the World. _[…]_; they belonged solely to the Third Age and then departed, and none save maybe Elrond, Círdan and Galadriel discovered of what kind they were or whence they came._  
**Unfinished Tales by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien**

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**Chapter 13 Guests**

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He was reluctant to go into the gardens to find his parents; the moments his father spent alone with his mother were precious to both of them, he knew. But Elladan had insisted someone seek them, now that Glorfindel had returned from the Havens with a guest, and since Arwen had refused to go, he had maintained it was to be Elrohir's task. Elrohir suspected, as he stepped bravely over the grassy lawns besides the river, that Elladan did not dare to go himself. Enduring one of his father's piercing looks was never enjoyable.

Singing made him drift back into his childhood, to one of the lullabies his mother always used to sing… But not this particular one. The sadness in this one was too gloomy for a mere child. Yet he had heard it before, in the Hall of Fire, perhaps even from his father's own lips, when speaking of events in the Second Age.

_Alcarelen né aran Eldaron._

_Sen i nandaror lirë nimbanen:_

_i telwa ya ardarya né vanima ar latina_

_imbë i Oronti ar i ëar…_

The accent of harmonic Quenya was noble, and possessed by a rare splendid Elven voice, even for one here at Imladris. But Elrohir smiled when he heard it, able to recognise his mother's voice anywhere.

_Macilerya né lenwa, eccorya né laicë,_

_silala cassarya vahaia cenina;_

_i únótimë eleni menelo telluma_

_naltanar turmaryassë telpina…_

Using his ears to find the soloist, he located both his parents. Ensuring they, in turn, did not notice his presence, he sat down on the sun-warmed ground, some shrubbery hiding him. Closing his eyes, he felt his father's pain translated through his mother's words, and Elrohir decided he could not interrupt. The singing resumed.

_Nan yalúmë háya lendero,_

_ar mammen marnero úner pole quetë_

_an morniennan elenarya lantanë_

_Mordoressë yassen i huiner nar…_

His father sat against a tree along the Bruinen, one of their favourite places, as his mother rested her head upon his chest. She was silent now. His father stroked the tresses of her silver hair. It was something none of the children had inherited; the ancient strains in his blood had been stronger than those of his wife.

Elrohir turned away silently, rising and retracing his steps, back to the house. Elladan looked at him inquisitively.

'Did you not find them?'

'I could not…'

Elladan felt some hesitance in his brother's words. He did not ask further.

'Then we shall simply wait until they return of their own accord.'

Celebrían could sense the emotions in Elrond. Still after so many years…

If those words were sung or spoken by others, on those late evenings in the melancholy hours of the night, he would close his mind, forcing it to other things, or turn away. Not so now, in their relative privacy.

His fingers caressed her ear, and the touch made her kiss him, as it caused the yearning in her stomach to increase. Elrond pulled her closer by the upper arms, his grasp strong but careful, his lips gentle yet sensual when meeting hers. Celebrían felt him almost giving in to her, his hands trailing her back.

Then the touches became more comforting in nature and Celebrían rested against him, closing her eyes and enjoying the body warmth, combined with the cool breeze that swept from across the river.

'I fear we must return, my Lady,' he whispered, pressing his lips against her ear.

'And why is that, my Lord?' she replied, nestling even closer, closing her eyes tighter, hoping he was teasing, that she had somehow misunderstood.

Elrond laughed, charmed by her conduct. His voice was soft when he spoke.

'For, unless I am sorely mistaken, one of our sons has just arrived and departed, because he did not dare disturb your singing. Or my melancholy state.'

Celebrían listened to the vibration in his chest, and was content.

'Elrohir?' 

'I believe so…'

Slowly rising, she extended her hand towards Elrond and helped him rise.

'Then let us return.'

Reaching the gardens bordering the part of the house where the library and their chambers were situated, Celebrían instantly noticed the shifting of Elrond's attention. Still holding her hand, he watched, and she with him, as Glorfindel approached. Apparently he had returned from his visit to the Grey Havens. Elrond tilted his head and softly spoke, not to any one in particular.

'They have arrived…'

Celebrían looked at him.

'Who have, my love?'

'The messengers of Manwë.'

A Man, or that was what he seemed to be at first glance, stood waiting in the hall. He seemed as old as the world, clothed in grey, and the tiredness visible in his eyes reminded Celebrían of Elrond's after a long day of straining work. Yet there was something more… She was not exactly certain what, but there was something she recognised…

Elrond seemed pleased with his coming, somehow anticipating it, even though she had never heard him speak of an expected arrival.

'Mithrandir…' She nodded, her voice soft, as her husband introduced her, and both Elf and Man seemed to smile upon her.

'Lord Círdan and Glorfindel have told me of you, my Lady. It is a privilege to receive some of the hospitality of your house.'

'Tis granted upon you with delight, my Lord,' she smiled, before resting her hand on Elrond's arm. 'But now, speak with my husband, for I know he desires it greatly.'

The Lord of Imladris watched his Lady leave their presence and turned towards the Man, carefully studying his face and what lay beyond.

'Círdan thinks highly of you, Elrond,' the Istar spoke with a smile and Elrond returned it, motioning the visitor to join him.

'The intrusting of a particular _item_, imparts his trust in _you_, Mithrandir,' he replied, as they entered the study. Elrond playfully narrowed his brow, as Mithrandir gave him an amused look.

'The Three are closely connected indeed, if you recognise a carrier of one.'

Elrond nodded and made way for the balcony, which at this time of day was regrettably deprived of Anar's rays. There he turned towards the other.

'You have not come alone?'

Mithrandir smiled and shook his head. His voice was soft, the words meant only for the Lord of Imladris.

'More of us came, but not all of us shall remain in these surroundings. The others will reveal themselves to you, if it is called for. One has gone east, and you will no doubt hear from him before long…'

Elrond nodded, understanding.

'Let it be known all of you are welcome in my house.'

~*~*~*~

Celebrían stood waiting, a little restless, as Elrond still attended to the affairs of Imladris in the library above. This despite promising to join her to welcome her parents upon their arrival.

Glorfindel had gone up to request his presence, but had not returned. Arwen caught her hand briefly to reassure her.

'He will come, he promised.'

Celebrían smiled at her daughter, knowing very well her husband would be here in time. She understood his responsibilities. Not new ones, but old ones revisited.

It had all started almost one and a half yén ago, when Mithrandir had visited unannounced, as he usually did, bringing with him Curunír, whom he introduced as the wisest of his order.

Until then, she had considered it coincidence her parents had come to visit, trying not to pay too much attention to the long conversations her father held with Elrond, lasting well into the night.

But shortly following the two Istari, came the news of a strange presence at the stronghold of Dol Guldur. Under duress, Elrond had already sent Elladan and Elrohir to Greenwood to listen to Thranduil's opinion of the rumours. Their return had not improved his mood.

There had been a council the following day, and Celebrían had sat beside Elrond, carefully listening to the worries that held her husband from sleep, and their bed, recited out loud. It had been Mithrandir who had voiced his suspicions about the occurrence at Dol Guldur, needing only one single word.

'Nazgûl…'

Elrond had caught her hand silently, all the while keeping his eyes on the man in grey. For a moment she had felt his qualms clearly. And discovered the main reason for the presence of her parents.

The council had lasted for the rest of the afternoon, and only after dinner had the two of them been able to retreat into the gardens.

Elrond had tried very hard to be cheerful, but Celebrían had not been deceived. They had spent most of the evening in silence, simply relishing in each other's company.

The Istari had departed the following day, much as they came: unexpectedly. Upon meeting her parents for breakfast, Celebrían was confronted with their looming departure too. But they were not to travel home.

Celebrían had not spoken of it to Elrond, but from his manner she had gathered he had already known of their plans.

Galadriel and Celeborn had left Lórien under the watchful leadership of Amroth, whose high house had been in Lórien since the very beginning of its existence. Their journeys had been long, filled with enquiry. Celebrían had received messages, coming together with those to Elrond. Hers had been full of stories and reassurance, while those meant for Elrond were much more serious, no doubt conveying more of the real purpose of their absence.

Visiting both Rhovanion and Gondor, it was only at long last that her parents returned via the borders of Mordor to Thranduil's realm, by then commonly referred to as Mirkwood, before passing the mountains to Imladris.

During their absence, Elrond had beseeched Celebrían not to visit Lórien, as it became evident the Misty Mountains had once again started to house orcs. But, much to her pleasing, he had had twice taken her to the old city of Lindon, reliving some of their reciprocal early memories.

It was true the courts had lost, together with their king, some of their glory, but for the duration of both their stays, they had been welcomed as in times long past. Arwen had accompanied them only on the second outing, excited to finally see where her father spent so many of his younger years.

As Elrond had visited Círdan, she and Arwen spent their day in the library, searching, much as Celebrían had long ago, for those volumes of ancient lore, long ago recorded by Elrond.

Arwen had been amused by the poetry, as Celebrían had once been. She had read it all before, though there was little he had not sent or gifted her, over the years.

Celebrían smiled when Elrond's old chambers appeared before her mind's eye; the place where she had first, indirectly, confessed her love for him. They had stayed in those rooms during the earlier of their visits, the night of arrival as passionate as their wedding night in Imladris; nervous like first lovers…

_Close your mind if you plan such thoughts, meleth-nîn… _ came his light reproach, together with a hand on her waist, as Elrond took his place alongside of her, smiling down. His other hand caught that of his daughter, as his eyes gazed into the distance, already detecting their visitors.

Celebrían hugged her mother tightly, relieved to see the both of her parents safe and sound. Meanwhile Celeborn and Elrond exchanged a cheerful greeting. As Celeborn took his daughter in his arms, Galadriel touched Elrond's face and kissed him on the forehead, before embracing him securely too.

Arwen was caught by both her grandparents at the same time. Both she and Celebrían were already halfway into the house by the time Celeborn and Elrond followed.

'And where have you hidden my grandsons?' Celeborn asked Elrond, whose face turned dark ahead completion of the sentence.

'Amon Sûl,' he replied sombrely.

'So it is true? From Dol Guldur the Darkness has now moved to Angmar…' Celeborn carefully stated, his eyes locked on Elrond's face.

'Sadly so,' Elrond nodded, as he watched Celebrían lead her mother and daughter, all the while discussing the journey.

'They have not gone alone?' Celeborn enquired, upon entering the main hall, following those leading the way.

'I sent Glorfindel with them, or rather the other way around.' Elrond smiled.

Celeborn seemed content with the answer.

Later, after dinner, Celebrían rested her head against Elrond's shoulder as he placed his arm around her, walking back to their chambers.

'Has my father spoken of departure?' she asked him softly.

Elrond pulled her closer, kissing her head.

'He has not, gwilwileth… But I suspect at present, they would be inclined to lengthen their stay indefinitely, if you asked.'

Celebrían looked up at him.

'Would you mind?'

It stirred a warm laugh from deep inside him.

'If it pleases my Lady, how can I possibly object?'

His reward came quickly, his arm languidly staying in mid-air as she moved in his path to kiss him.

~*~*~*~

Within the next century, Amon Sûl had been destroyed, Arnor invaded.

And yet it all passed, as did the Civil War in Gondor, and the Kin-strife that followed Valacar's death.

What indeed, had the death of Gil-galad and Elendil given them? Elrond mused, looking out the window of his study. Realms in disarray, if not vanishing…

The outside world paid little heed to Imladris, and he was not exactly thankful for it. It had stayed as splendid as it had been for centuries, millennia, while the world changed around it. Exactly because of that, Gondolin had been the target of Morgoth's wrath. The Prophecy of the North…

Indeed, he was wary to enter Imladris, and himself, into the politics of Middle-earth without invitation; his policy had not changed over the centuries; still reluctant to give his advice if unasked for, as he had been when the realm of the Elves had still been strong and glorious. Yet, if anyone wished the help of Imladris, it was here, together with his council, for the asking.

Gondor had long ago begun to sever its connection with Imladris; at present its ambassadors were few, if they came at all. And Arnor, Elrond perceived in retrospect, had been dwindling ever since the Disaster of the Gladden Fields. His attempts to preserve it for Valandil had only postponed what he now understood had been inevitable.

Elrond had been vigilant concerning Arnor and Dol Guldur, and due to this proximity-bound feeling of responsibility, the Great Plague caught him, and not only him, unaware. Word of the loss of the White Tree in Minas Anor and the departure of a majority of Gondor's inhabitants made him painfully aware of the fact that Mordor had now been left unguarded. Not even the replanting of a sapling in the Court of the Fountain of the Citadel could manage to make him forget.

His family, nay, his household worried with him, trying to give comfort as best they could; Arwen, ever reassuring, never far from him, her arm around his shoulder, her head against his own; Elladan and Elrohir never hesitant to run his errands; Celeborn, as well as Galadriel, always ready to discuss his concerns with him, Glorfindel and Erestor much the same. And Celebrían…

If anyone could chase the gloom away, it was his wife…

_Her_ policy _had_ changed over the years.

Lengthy conversations with the other lords were tolerated during the day, but as soon as Anar had surrendered the sky to Rána, she would enter his study, a clear sign a meeting had ended. As she had just sent away her father.

_You are right, of course_, he commented inwardly, as her arms slipped underneath his from behind. Elrond kissed her hands as Celebrían nuzzled his hair.

'Of course I am right…' she answered, teasing. 'I pray this evening finds you well, my Lord?'

Raising his arm so she could slip underneath it, Elrond kept her hands in his.

'It does now, hiril.'

Moving his hands to her neck he bent forward to kiss her with care, his lips teasing, coming and going.

Celebrían blindly followed the needlework on the front of his shirt with her fingers, one of the few of his garments she had personally embroidered. Not very skilfully, she admitted frankly.

'Why do you still wear these tunics?' she whispered, enquiring, a trace of incomprehension in her voice.

Elrond smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone.

'I like them.'

Celebrían raised her eyebrows, smiling playfully.

'You would not accept that as an answer from the children.'

Elrond grinned, for she was correct. Guiding his children in their studies, past and present, he had never accepted unsupported opinions. Little time was necessary to adjust his previous answer.

'I find wearing them enjoyable, knowing you have invested time in their completion.' he spoke softly, running his fingers through her long hair, not braided at present, the delicate curls shining in the light of the new moon.

'Ah, there is that silver tongue I so longed to hear in Edhellond.' Celebrían whispered, following his lips with her index finger. 'Do you not miss that time?'

Elrond breathed in deeply, as his eyes seemed to focus on something beyond.

'I remember it fondly… But I might slightly deceive myself; I deem my happiness lay in single moments. Unlike now, when it is ever-present.' With the last sentence, his eyes rested on Celebrían's face, and he smiled. 'You did love to listen…'

'As I still do…'

He kissed her as if his immortal life depended on it, with bated breath, almost forgetting to gather more, in-between the merging of lips.

Celebrían hands tugged at his tunic by the sides and he pulled back with a raised eyebrow, and a poorly held-back grin.

'What are you attempting?'

Celebrían looked up at him mischievously, her fingers already exploring the buttons at the front.

'To get you out of this horrible shirt…'

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The translation of the Fall of Gil-galad in Quenya comes from 

Since I think it is one of the most breath-taking poems in Tolkien lore (that's personal, you don't have to agree) I'm giving you the full text and translation:

Lanta Alcareleno (Song of The Fall of Gil-galad)

Alcarelen né aran Eldaron. Gil-galad was an Elven-king.

Sen i nandaror lirë nimbanen: Of him the harpers sadly sing:

i telwa ya ardarya né vanima ar latina the last whose realm was fair and free

imbë i Oronti ar i ëar. between the Mountains and the Sea.

Macilerya né lenwa, eccorya né laicë, His sword was long, his lance was keen,

silala cassarya vahaia cenina; his shining helm afar was seen;

i únótimë eleni menelo telluma the countless stars of heaven's field

naltanar turmaryassë telpina. were mirrored in his silver shield.

Nan yalúmë háya lendero, But long ago he rode away,

ar mammen marnero úner polë quetë; and where he dwelleth none can say;

an morniennan elenarya lantanë for into darkness fell his star

Mordoressë yassen i huiner nar. in Mordor where the shadows are.

Anar: the sun

Mithrandir and Curunír: Gandalf and Saruman

yén: often translated as 'year', really 144 of our years

Rhovanion: would later be called Rohan

It is mentioned in Unfinished Tales that Galadriel and Celeborn went to live in Imladris for many years, until the disaster in Moria (1980 Third Age)

The Prophecy of the North: also; Doom of the Noldor, Doom (or curse) of Mandos: the anguish, devastation and loss of integrity foretold by Mandos, provoked by Fëanor's oath and the disobedience of the Noldor to the will of the Valar, and by the Kinslaying.

Great Plague: the plague that swept across Middle-earth, coming from the southeast, wiping out Gondor's royal family, and killing the White Tree.

Rána: the moon

hiril: lady

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	14. Wisdom in Hindsight

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

[…] _and the heirs of Valandil removed and dwelt at Fornost on the high North Downs, and that now too is desolate. Men call it Deadmen's Dike, and they fear to tread there. For the folk of Arnor dwindled, and their foes devoured them, and their lordship passed, leaving only green mounds in the grassy hills._  
**Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien**

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**Chapter 14 Wisdom in Hindsight**

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'I do not think it is wise for you to go.'

Had it come from anyone else, Elrond might have turned and left, but this meant more to him than anything.

'Why not?'

'You have a family, a people, a task that goes beyond Fornost, to take care of… This is the blessing of being a ruler. You can send others.'

Elrond pressed his lips together and tried to give the other Elf a piercing look. It somewhat failed. He did not let it bother him.

'I sense somehow, Elladan and Elrohir are involved in this… That you promised the sons they could come if the father did not.'

Glorfindel nodded, not hiding anything.

'You were the same age when Gil-galad sent you to Eregion.'

Elrond succeeded admirably in relaying his piercing look this time.

'And what good did that do us?' he said, shaking his head, a warning in his eyes.

Glorfindel did not fear it, he had known Elrond long enough.

'Eregion was lost even before you took to the road. Gil-galad knew that, and I think you did too.'

Elrond turned away and took a deep breath.

'I was younger.'

Glorfindel smiled.

'I thought it wiser to let you bring that detail up yourself. But you were no child then, and your sons are not now.'

Elrond slightly tilted his head. His voice was thin but sharp.

'I am well aware they are not children anymore.' _Very well aware…_

Glorfindel shrugged.

'They wish to go, Elrond. They hear about all your heroic tales but are not allowed to have their own.'

Elrond turned back to Glorfindel and attempted a faint smile.

'You have Elladan and Elrohir waiting, I expect?'

Glorfindel grinned.

'They wished to wait for your answer, yes.'

Elrond nodded, pausing for a moment.

'Very well, but you shall be partly responsible for them.'

Glorfindel nodded shortly, a smile broadening on his face.

'If we are to meet Eärnur and assemble with Círdan at the assigned place, we shall have to ride within three days.'

'You will have enough volunteers, leave as soon as you are ready,' Elrond replied, turning towards the windows. 'And send in my sons, on your way out.' As Glorfindel was halfway through the room Elrond called him back.

'Do not tell them yet.'

Glorfindel smiled and nodded.

Elrond went over the scenario once more, as he had done so often already.

Little over two years ago, Arvedui, fifteenth King of the Arthedain, had asked for help against the advancing Witch-king, but the fleet from Gondor had not been in time. Arvedui had directed his sons to Lindon, remaining on the North Downs until the very last. Círdan had sent a ship to Forochel to rescue Arvedui, who had sought refuge in the mines of Ered Luin, but when he and his men had boarded the ship, it had been trapped in the ice. All had drowned.

Eärnur, son of Earnil, King of Gondor had now come to avenge the loss of the Arthedain and Arvedui; his kinsmen of many generations removed.

And had requested the help of Imladris.

Careful not to turn until he heard the sound of footsteps stop, Elrond was confronted with not only his sons. Arwen stood beside them, no doubt present to help influence him.

He knew Celebrían would not aid them on this front; she would have rather kept them at home altogether. So, the next in line who held some influence over him was indeed their sister. He smiled. Such cleverness…

'And what gives me the honour of all my children visiting at once?'

Elrond observed a glance from Elladan to Elrohir. Probably something along the lines of: Did Glorfindel not discuss it?

Arwen in turn observed her father's smile, seeing through it, and came towards him.

'You shouldn't tease them so, Ada.'

Elrond ironed his face, running his fingers over one of the books on the table.

'Who said I was teasing them? I do not believe there is anything that needs to be discussed.'

Elrohir bowed his head and Elladan observed his father closely.

'Glorfindel did discuss Fornost with you, did he not, Adar?'

Elrond nodded, sitting down on one of the chairs which stood around the table.

'We discussed it, a force will leave from Imladris within three days, to meet Eärnur's host.'

Arwen rested her hand on her father's arm.

'You are not going yourself, are you, Ada?'

Elrond raised his eyebrows.

'Would it not be appropriate? After all, I _am_ the Lord of Imladris.'

Arwen mimicked his facial expression, but Elrond wasn't certain if it was on purpose.

'Does Naneth know of this?'

'I was going to discuss it with her presently. Before you entered,' Elrond replied, folding his hands, sitting back. 'Was there something you wished to ask me?'

Elladan looked at Elrohir before shaking his head.

'We thought Glorfindel would have brought it up.'

Elrond feigned ignorance.

'I do not believe he did.'

Elrohir cleared his throat.

'Do you plan to take Glorfindel with you?'

Elrond nodded, raising his hands to chin-height, placing his elbows on the armrests.

'I do.'

Elladan straightened his back.

'So, there will be the need for volunteers to accompany you to Fornost?'

'I believe we have quite some as it is. More than enough.'

As he spoke the words, their faces showed a distinct glimmer of disappointment.

Elrond was surprised, since the twins were usually very direct. How long ago was it that he had taught them how to ride? Watched them fight their first mock-battle? Sent them on their first long errantry? And now they stood here, afraid to tell him their minds. Surprising to say the least…

'But I suppose you have already fitted your armour?' he added with a smile, watching Elladan's eyes grow large and Elrohir almost forgetting to breathe.

Arwen grinned.

'They have.'

Elrond smiled broadly.

'Glorfindel has defended you already, and I will not forbid your going, as long as you promise me you will not attempt anything rash.'

Both Elladan and Elrohir positively shone.

'We promise,' Elrohir smiled in return. Elladan simply nodded.

Elrond rose from his chair and offered his arm to Arwen, who took it, her cheeks red with amusement. He looked at his sons.

'Now, you two get your gear ready, and do not mention this to your mother until I have discussed it with her.'

'Which is right about now.'

Both Elladan and Elrohir left as quickly as Elvishly possible. Their sister was braver and stayed, but released her father's arm. Elrond smiled at Celebrían, motioning Arwen to leave. She gave him a supportive glance before following her brothers. Celebrían noticed and sent him a glare.

'Elrond, how could you?'

The Lord of Imladris, even after so many years, still reasonably new to arguments with his Lady, extended his hand, but Celebrían did not immediately take it. He lowered his eyes for a moment.

'If I had forbidden it, how long could we have kept them here? I wish to protect them as much as you do, gwilwileth, but they are not children anymore… In the end, they would disregard both of us, and leave without any word of where they were going. At least now we are aware of their location, and that Glorfindel is with them.'

'You are not going?' She asked, sounding more vulnerable than she probably intended.

Elrond smiled.

'And leave you unprotected?'

Celebrían fled into his arms and smothered a sob with his clothing.

Elrond embraced her closely. The last time they had had an argument was when he had wanted to teach Arwen how to ride. A long time ago… He had understood her feelings then, and he did now. Softly he kissed her head and rested his own against it.

'I would not forgive myself if anything happened to them,' he heard her whisper. Elrond released her and gently caught her head in his hands.

'Do you believe _I_ would forgive myself? But they will be fine… And we shall not let them go without the best Imladris can muster. They will go as Lords. Agreed?'

Celebrían looked up at him, trying to gather a smile.

'Very well…'

Elrond put his arm around her.

'And now we go and unearth some of my old equipment, to see if some is still useable.'

Celebrían knew full well, that all of Elrond's equipment was 'still useable'. Although it was stored away, they were dutifully oiled and kept, almost as heirlooms, most of it still in the same chest that had held them so long ago, during the Last Alliance. The room, light shining in from a small, high window, was dusty, with a sense of… She was not certain. Searching her mind for a moment, she recalled discerning the scent when Elrond left for Mordor, getting into his riding gear.

'It's the oil for the leather,' Elrond whispered, letting go of her hand and pointing at the leather armour that had been hung over a wooden foundation many years ago, still waiting for its owner. Next to it was its dented metal companion.

Kneeling beside the large chest, Elrond inhaled the air that came from inside, and frowned.

'The smell of the dust is still here, can you imagine?'

Celebrían smiled, sitting down beside him as she collected a leather portfolio, carefully bound up, practically air-tight. Elrond carefully took it from her and undid the bindings. The paper inside was fragile after so many years, but Celebrían could easily recognise Elrond's handwriting. It appeared to be a journal, but not the one which she knew lay in the library, neatly scribed. That one was a business-like day-to-day account of the events, unemotional and dry.

'This is my personal journal…' For a moment he seemed lost in thought, but then handed it back to Celebrían, returning to the chest. 'You might find quite some expressions of my love for you in there.'

'Can I read it?' Celebrían asked, already starting, not waiting.

Elrond meanwhile collected a large, long object from the bottom.

'Certainly… But first look at this.'

He slowly unfolded the whitish wrappings, uncovering a sheathed sword. As he partially drew it, Celebrían ran her finger along the flat of the blade, where writings in Quenya decorated the metal.

'It is beautiful.'

'Gil-galad gave it to me…' He smiled, re-sheathing it and laying it aside. 'But I speak too much of those in Mandos as it is…'

Celebrían rested her hand on his thigh.

'I do not mind.'

Elrond looked at her for a moment before taking up the weapon again.

'He gave it to me when I left for Eregion. I had my own sword, but this one was different… A father is to bestow a sword upon his son, a special object… But my father never had the opportunity…' Silently he turned it in his hands, the metal reflecting the light at every rotation.

Two swords rested on the table of Elrond's study, together with two bows, and several other objects neatly arranged in twos, waiting.

Elrond led in Elladan and Elrohir, who were already clad in their blue and silver garments. Elrond smiled, taking up his old sword.

'I did not wish to favour one of you above the other… And so I have tried to decide according to that which each of you excel in…' He offered the sword to Elladan. 'I received this from Ereinion Gil-galad… And now I pass it on to you… Hoping it may aid you in achieving victory in battle.'

Elladan accepted the elvish sword, which lay almost weightless in his hand.

'Thank you, Adar…'

Elrond had already taken the bow, a beautifully crafted specimen, made in the glory-days of Lindon.

'And for you, Elrohir, may it be as swift and accurate as it was when it helped establish Imladris.'

Elrohir's eyes glittered, as he took the light but solid bow from his father.

'I did not even know you still kept these…' He looked up at Elrond. 'Thank you…'

Elrond nodded, beaming, as he took up the other bow for Elladan, the second sword for Elrohir.

Presenting them with additional equipment, including daggers and quivers and such, Elrond finally arrived at the two pendants. 'Your mother gave me an identical one when I left for battle… She had these made for you.' He fastened each around their individual necks. Then he stepped back, a proud father watching his sons, no longer boys, tall and strong, ready to go to battle. He cleared his throat.

'Most of these gifts have been made here, at Imladris, and no better weapons have ever come forth from the hands of the blacksmiths here… For only the best is good enough for the Lords of Imladris…'

Two pairs of identical eyes rested on him, growing large, before both sons leaped towards their father. Receiving them in his arms at once, Elrond pulled Elladan and Elrohir as close as possible, fully realizing he had to let them go in a moment.

But this instant, they were, once more, the elf-children that he had collected from trees when they had climbed too high. Those who he had plucked out of riverbeds by the backs of their tunics.

Releasing them, he smiled, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

'Come, you must go now.'

Walking down, the three of them, they met the others at the stables. Celebrían spoke with both of her sons privately for a moment, and watched them say goodbye to Arwen, meanwhile returning to Elrond's side. Galadriel and Celeborn exchanged some words with their grandsons as Glorfindel arrived last. Elrond embraced him shortly, before catching his arms.

'Take care of yourself, meldir.' His voice lowered to a whisper as he released him and took Celebrían's hand. 'And take care of our boys…'

Glorfindel nodded, solemnly. He was the last to mount before they all rode off.

Celebrían might not have the patience to embroider, but braiding her husband's hair was different. She could do it all day.

Elrond sat on their bed, his back towards her, his eyes closed.

Both seemed as if they were caught in this moment, the sensation only enlarged by the warm rays of the sun, shining through the large window of their bedroom.

Celebrían had finished a while ago, but had not indicated it to Elrond, enjoying his presence too much.

Elladan and Elrohir had arrived back the evening before, after being absent for almost a year, together with Glorfindel, Círdan, Eärnur and Aranarth, son of Arvedui. A little bruised and tired, their faces had been shining with pride.

After Aranarth, who chose to seek refuge in Imladris, abandoning the title of 'king', had presented the heirlooms of Arnor, officially giving them into Elrond's keeping, the celebrations had commenced. And with those, the endless storytelling. Elrohir had been lyrical.

They had met the Witch-king's army not at Fornost itself, but on the plains to the west, towards Lake Evendim. Together with the aid of a remnant of the people of Arnor, they had utterly overthrown the Witch-king, eradicated his army, shattering the power of Angmar.

The Witch-king, Lord of the Nazgûl, had fled into the falling night. Celebrían considered the most ominous part of the story, Glorfindel's prophesy; that the Witch-king would not fall by the hand of a man.

With a deep, content sigh she kissed Elrond's shoulder, resting her head against it, her arms around his waist.

'I am glad they are safe and sound.'

Elrond, fully conscious that Celebrían had finished with his hair much earlier, turned around and smiled, guiding her back into the pillows. Her arms were around his neck now, as his lips flew over her collarbone, and every other uncovered part of skin he could detect. Then he looked at her, slowly coming towards her face, until his lips were only inches away from hers. With a smile, Celebrían moved to meet him, but he pulled back, just out of reach.

'Not fair, Master Elrond,' she pouted. Elrond tried to shift his weight, but with a quick movement, Celebrían took advantage of the weak spot in his defence, ending up with a leg on each side of him.

With a broad grin, Elrond, now on his back, looked up at her, silver hair spilling over her shoulders. Then he raised his hands up to her face, which moved so her lips would meet the palm of his hand, her fingers on his chest, following the muscles underneath the thin tunic. One of Elrond's hands slipped down to her waist, following the curves of the body he knew as he did his own. Holding her hair back, his eyes grew darker than ever, passion burning behind them.

'Lenited-nîn o menel…'

'Do you think flattery will get you anywhere?' Celebrían returned with a grin.

Elrond grinned broader, using one hand to sit up, the other behind her back, keeping her close.

'It usually does…'

~*~*~*~

The disaster in Moria had had something to do with it, Celebrían mused, even though the main reason for her parents return to Lórien had been the sorrow that had hung over the Golden Wood, after the tragic drowning of Amroth.

'Be careful,' she had warned them, watching them mount.

The proximity of Dol Guldur had scared her then, but not nearly as much as it did now.

Years later, fearing it was soon becoming a stronghold of Sauron's power, Mithrandir had travelled there, and the Shadow had retreated, hiding in the east.

Elrond had called it the Watchful Peace, those years that followed, and Celebrían could do nothing but agree. It had been watchful, and peaceful.

But now it had ended.

On the higher terrace, her husband, her parents, Círdan, Mithrandir and Curunír, together with Glorfindel and Erestor, and some other of the Eldarin Lords, were discussing exactly that.

Elrond had invited her to join them, but she had declined. If there was anything important, she would rather learn it from him personally. He had been the first to inform her of the Enemy's return, with increased strength, to Dol Guldur. It had been her mother that called the council, now called the White Council apparently.

Arwen wrapped her arm around Celebrían, supplying the comfort she needed to shed her worries. Elladan and Elrohir were probably sitting upstairs, in case Elrond needed them.

'Will father go, if it is true what they are saying?'

The question compelled Celebrían to suspend her thoughts. She smiled at Arwen, folding her daughter's hand into her own.

'I think not, pen-nîn tithen.'

'He will send Elladan and Elrohir?'

'Most likely.'

Celebrían watched her daughter, if possible, more like her father than her brothers, his eyes, his face, all so obviously represented. She had inherited much of his ways as well. Elrond's patience had already been present in the girl when she was young, while it had surfaced in Elladan much later. And Elrohir… Well, he unquestionably showed more of Celebrían's own eagerness, but patience was growing within him as well.

Above them, the Council continued.

~*~*~*~

The sun had long gone, and the stars were, one by one, appearing in the night sky. Elrond watched Mithrandir, noting the worried look in the Istar's face.

'Do you wish to call a Council?'

The wizard shook his head.

'It took three years to call it last time… And we cannot undo what has transpired already. Osgilliath is ruined, its stone bridge is said to have been broken.'

Elrond sat down at the head of the table, one hand on the wooden surface, the other on an armrest.

'They issued from Imlad Morgul?'

Mithrandir nodded.

'The walls of the Tower of Sorcery shine with a pale frightening light.'

Elrond sat silent for a moment.

'You have heard of Hadhodrond?'

'If you mean the Dark Lord of Mordor peopling the mines with his creatures, yes, I have indeed received that information,' Mithrandir replied, sitting forward.

Elrond sighed almost unnoticeably.

'It seems as if the Power of the Black Land wishes to bar all passes into Eriador…'

Mithrandir did not answer, cogitating, his mind no doubt travelling the same path as that of the Lord of Imladris. After a long silence he shook his head.

'But I do not wish to keep you from your celebrations this evening. We can discuss this in the days to come.' Rising from the chair, he looked down at the Elven Lord.

Elrond smiled.

'It seems strange to celebrate a departure, and yet we always do.'

Elrond woke of kisses being trailed over the bare skin of his back. When he turned, Celebrían's smile was entrancing.

'Êl-nîn, are you certain you do not wish to accompany me?'

'I wish to come…' Elrond replied sleepily, before her lips found his in a short but passionate merging. Celebrían drew back a little and waited for the remaining part of his answer. He sighed. 'But I cannot now…'

She made to move away, but he caught her arm, swiftly proving to be very much awake. He smiled seductively, his voice ever so enticing. 'Do not leave my bed, Lady, and defer your leave-taking a while yet…' Gently he pulled her back and no sooner began to press his lips against her neck.

'If I did that, I would never depart, my dearest,' Celebrían refuted, unconvincingly trying to release herself from his grasp.

'What is one more day, my Lady, in our lifetime?' he asked her huskily, guiding her onto her back, kissing, his tongue tickling, making her shiver.

'Dearest husband, it is one day earlier I return to your arms,' she replied, shutting her eyes, allowing herself to be swayed little by little.

'Am I not your Lord and Master… Is not your pleasure in giving me mine?' Elrond queried in between caresses.

Celebrían laughed as she pulled him closer, her hands tracing his back, reading the enjoyment in his eyes.

'Is it not your duty to give your Lady all she desires?'

'It is… And I shall…' He grinned, pinning her underneath him. 'If she wishes it.'

Elrond's impromptu movement made Celebrían hiss with a rapid inhalation, and she stretched her arms, his lips once more meeting her unprotected neckline. 'Do you?'

With a soft groan she embraced him and buried her hands in his hair.

'I wish it, Elrond… I do…'

His hands slipped under her shoulders, his fingers just able to reach her cheekbone, softly stroking it as he kissed her again.

Both knew that subsequently, she would go and he would stay. But at that moment it did not matter, very little mattered.

Only later would either wish it had gone differently.

But it is easier to be wise afterwards.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Lenited-nîn o menel…: 'My light from heaven…' (literally: light-my from heaven)

pen-nîn tithen: my little one (literally: one-my little)

Imlad Morgul: Sindarin for 'valley of black magic', Minas Morgul was located at the end of the valley.

Hadhodrond: Sindarin for Khazad-dûm, although 'Moria' was the more usual Elvish name 

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	15. Time of Vigil

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

I dedicate this to Hanna, who doesn't know I intended to, and will upon reading this probably never speak to me again, since I doubt she would want such a chapter. But you gave me a song, and made me write this…;)

_On a time, long ago, as she passed over the Mountains to visit her mother in the land of Lórien, Orcs waylaid the road, and she was taken captive by them and tormented; and_ […] _she was rescued by Elrond and his sons, and brought home and tended, and her hurts of body were healed_ […]  
**from 'The Peoples of Middle-earth', the History of Middle-earth, volume 12, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 15 Time of Vigil**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Celebrían had seen it before, that moment… No, not exactly seen it, felt it… Long ago…

It had been in a dream, one of her own or one of Elrond's, she could not be certain; it had been too long ago and too collective. It had been the same darkness, the same omen of fear…

But that had been a dream, a chilling vision from beyond, and this was not, this was taking place…

As the first shadow emerged from its hiding place, its movements horrifically shrewd, her horse reared up. She attempted to stay in the saddle, holding on to the reins, but did not succeed.

The last she heard was the neighing of the horses, and a distressed call coming from one of her escorts, as she hit the ground, struggling against the blackness… Then suddenly grabbing hands forced her mind back, her natural instincts making her fight, protecting. Pushing and kicking she found herself free, reaching for the reins of the horse, only to be caught again, pulled back…

The horse exhibited such fear, not wanting to stay or go…

She cried out in anger and distress, trying to gather courage from it, and the strength necessary to renew her efforts. She slipped, as at the same time the horse seized its chance to flee. Turning onto her back, she could feel her every limb aching…

The creatures seemed amused by her, she realised in terror, observing her, before nearing again, renewing their advance. _How dare you?_ Celebrían thought. _Who are you to stand there and entertain yourself with me?_

Once more she tried to clamber onto her feet, finding someone on the ground beside her, a face she recognised, the eyes in a stare, lifeless… For a moment she was in shock, unable to move.

It took less than an instant for them to take advantage of it.

She persisted in struggling, but where at first there had only been a few, there now where many…

In the end, all proved futile. A sudden, fierce pain in her shoulder manifested itself, before more followed… She screamed. Her consciousness tried to hide from the pain, from reality…

_Elbereth give me the strength… Either that or allow me to go to Mandos…_

_Liberate me… Do not force me to go through this… _Then she thought of Elrond, her children, her parents… _Elrond…_

After that, there was one thing foremost in her mind, as her body froze. That of which the Eldar seldom speak. The Separation…

And all the while, something deep inside cried, kept crying. _Away! Away… To somewhere else…_

Was there hope of rescue? A despondent thought… No… And yet…

Elrond urged the horse to go faster, even though there was no possibility that it could indeed increase its speed.

Elladan had sent someone ahead, to relay word of their arrival. They had found her, rescued her, but not in time, not in time…

He crossed the river Bruinen before he knew it, riding towards them, towards her… Fear and anger were fighting for the upper hand, but he would not allow either get the better of him now. When finally the riders came into sight, he was reluctant to slow down, searching, trying to discover a sign, the smallest indication that she was not…

'Tis Adar…' Elrohir throatily called to his brother, who held a limp body in his arms, the tears streaming across his cheeks. Elladan hastily blinking, to indeed find his father, tall and impressive, not showing any emotion, coming towards them.

As Elrond only slowed and turned until the last moment, he motioned his horse alongside his son. What followed was a mental demand, sharper and more emotional than anything else could have been. _Hand her to me…_

The Lady of Imladris moaned softly as she was handed over to her Lord.

Elrond's eyes flashed to meet Elladan's, his son's teary eyes showing a pain that could not be hidden, his own filling with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it was not too late entirely…

'Heb-lim, Celebrían…' he whispered, intensely longing to let her know he was there, but her mind seemed to be enclosing all it had endured; banning everything out, and him along with it. Making sure his arm was firmly around her, he spurred the horse. He had to bring her home, there he could do more…

Most knew by then what had come about, and even though they all wished to see, none stood by as Elrond returned, except Arwen, whom he had left in tears, but was now strangely calm and reserved.

He paid her no heed, nor Glorfindel, or anyone if they had been there.

Elrond carried her, his butterfly, so cruelly de-winged now, and his heart fell with every step he took.

If I had kept her with me one more day…

_If I had only gone with her…_

Meanwhile continuing to explore the outline of her mind, trying to find a hole in her defence. Somehow it had saved her from Mandos up till now… Mandos…

Glorfindel watched Elrond, much as he in turn watched Celebrían, never resting, never leaving. But where Elrond was alone, his mind focused on only one thing, Glorfindel found himself surrounded by a group of people that felt as strongly about these two people as he, speaking their minds, and the outside world inescapably involved.

The children would not leave.

Mithrandir too, having arrived only a day before the Lady's departure, sat by the window of the adjoining room day and night, waiting, as they all were. Even Erestor could be found there most of the time, taking care only of that which was most important; coordinating the less vital tasks between Elrond's junior secretaries.

Word had been sent to Lórien, and Glorfindel doubted it would take long for either the Lord or the Lady, probably both, to arrive at Imladris. Still, he was uncertain of what they could do; all had been attempted by Elrond already.

Elrond buried his head in his hands.

Where before, speed and haste had seemed so vital, now, after he had done all that was possible, only the slow passing of time seemed to remain.

Never had he been so conscious of it, of every minute that crept by, and all the while nothing happening, everything staying as it was; not better, not worse…

Elrond was most uncomfortable with the silence from Celebrían. Not an echo; everything closed. Lovers, though at times a certain barrier remained, had almost no secrets between them. How different now…

In his anguish, many stages seemed to go by. Anger seemed to ebb away, only to revisit with such force as to hit him back into reality. Tiredness gave the impression of being of a more passing nature; as if there was a moment after which he did not feel it anymore. But it always returned, much opposite to the sense of powerlessness, which never went.

He called not to the stars, not to the Lady, not this time…

Once he had asked to keep his Lord safe, and it had not been so…

Innumerable times had he prayed to them to keep his family safe, and now, it was not so…

_What can she possibly have done to deserve this?_

_If there was a mistake, she made it through the goodness of her heart…_

_By loving me… If it was that which has angered you, punish me, not her…_

Elrond was aware of the arrival of Galadriel and Celeborn.

No one informed him, and they did not enter into this twilit room that was his world now. But sometimes, from the corners of his eyes, he saw their shadowy figures on the threshold, hesitant to intrude.

Only one of the household dared to enter, but only occasionally did he discern his daughter's voice, her touch upon his shoulder, gone again before he really noticed she had been there… Not even his evenstar seemed able to chase the shadows away now… To dispel the anguish that now housed in his heart.

Lying on their bed, so small, almost a shadow of her former being, his hopes sank every time he looked at Celebrían; every time he checked her wounds, his heart broke further, desperately trying to breach the mental barrier… But she had severed any link, with the children, her parents, him… Yet how she found the strength to endure this, he knew not…

_For goodness sake, gwilwileth, come back to me… I cannot bear this marred place without you…_

No sleep, no food, only some water, and only after he wetted Celebrían's lips first… The lips that had caressed his skin, had met his own countless times, now pale, most unnatural…

It was after the first days, in which he had fought the poison and won, he realised the struggle was not his, had never been his. He could heal her body, but nothing else. An impasse…

_The irony of it_, Elrond reflected, crestfallen. The Lord of Imladris, wise Master Elrond, son of Eärendil, descendant of Melian, who had survived battles where even the mightiest had fallen, could do naught.

Sorrow and anger continued to surge within him, still fighting for ascendancy. In the end it was tiredness that came and almost triumphed.

For days he had tried to sit, resting open-eyed, ready to react when she needed him. But she did not. Her chest only heaving ever so slightly, seemingly never enough to breathe properly. No sound, no sign, nothing…

Elrohir nudged Elladan as they watched Elrond, head resting in his hand.

'We leave him so?'

Elladan nodded slowly. Elrohir shook his head.

'What can we do?'

Elladan's voice was soft.

'Acharn…'

Arwen caught Elladan by the elbow.

'If you go now, I shall never forgive you.'

Elrond pulled his robes closer around him, cold, yet unwilling to leave and collect something warmer. The shivering stayed, plaguing him as the need for rest did. He needed to move, but his limbs were heavy, his brain, it seemed, failing to give him clear judgement. Sorrow remained, tiring him even more.

How much worse than death was this? If she was to wake, how could he expect her to go on, for the remainder of her time in Arda, a shadow of her former self…

Then the tears came, and he was not able to hold them back. Despair, weariness, all of it, coming forward… Grieving for her, for the children, her parents, for himself…

An inward reprimand did not help. Blaming it on tiredness did not make it go away.

It was Arwen's arms around him, her eyes and cheeks as wet as his own, that calmed him slightly. For the first time in days he had been shaken out of the tunnel he had found himself in.

It was not expressly him being soothed by his daughter, as much as it was the other way around. Pressing Arwen against his shoulder, her arms around his chest, he stroked her hair trying to find the peace he needed, trying to give her the support she so desperately wished.

'Walk with me, Ada,' she whispered. 'You would not have to go far, just a little way, to get out of here, if only for a little bit… Grandmother and grandfather will stay with Naneth. Please?'

Elrond released her and rubbed his face, somehow trying to regain what he had missed over the past days.

'How long has it been?'

Arwen caught his hand as he lowered it onto his knee.

'Eight days, ada.'

He caught her other hand.

'You understand I cannot go, my little one?'

Arwen nodded, her eyes filling again.

'Will you not even go into the next room for a moment?'

Elrond shook his head slowly.

'But I am glad you came…'

The younger Lady of Imladris looked at her father, eyes pleading.

'Only for a little while.'

Elrond's hand rose to move a lock of hair out of Arwen's face, before he found a smile from deep within.

'I cannot now…'

Arwen nodded and kissed him on the cheek, staying, but leaving once he had sunken back into rumination again.

When he stumbled out of the world of half-sleeping he was infuriated with himself… It had happened only once before, innocent really, and Gil-galad had forgiven him without a second thought.

But he would never forgive himself if…

Quickly he knelt beside the bed and touched her arm, but it was as cold as before…

Slowly Elrond rested his forehead against the side of the bed.

'Celebrían… If you go to Mandos, I will follow… Without a second thought…'

Meaning every word of the statement terrified him more then the notion of Mandos itself.

Celebrían fought herself through the thick layers that clouded her awareness. He was here… She had heard him… He had come…

How close had she been to giving up?

Yet a voice, questioning her, had made her realise she was not ready… Not to go to Mandos, nor to leave her family behind … And now she could hear a new voice, one she knew so well…

Elrond raised his head as he watched her. He swallowed.

'I fear I am losing my mind…'

Her voice was a less than a whisper, his name, only his name.

He was up and beside her, near, observing her closely.

'Celebrían…Please, my love…'

Arwen was beside him, instantly.

'Adar…?'

Elrond caught her arm. His tone was imperative.

'Get your grandparents, your grandmother, get her _now_.'

Placing his hand on Celebrían's abdomen, he once more entirely opened his mind to her, to everyone.

_Come back, celeb loth-nîn, I am here…_

Nothing, there was nothing, not even a slight touch upon his mind.

'My silver queen… '

She swallowed slowly, before her eyes opened, pointed at the ceiling, as if even her eyes could not bear what they had been made to witness.

Elrond removed his hand, fearing she would somehow remember, relapse.

Suddenly there was Arwen, her hand on his back, her voice in his mind, calling to her mother. Galadriel's came next, more detached, much more peaceful.

Elrond did not dare wake her as she seemed asleep, her breath so slow, her skin so white, lying so still…

He pulled off his robes, leaving him in only his tunic and trousers. Not looking at Galadriel, who sat on the other side, he carefully lowered onto the bed, on his stomach, to be rewarded by Celebrían's opening of her eyes, and a feeble smile.

'Meleth-nîn…'

'Ssh…' Elrond implored, catching her hand, her fingers clutching his, the tips turning even whiter.

Then she shut her eyes again. The joy and life that had once been there, in her entire physique, had gone. Tiredness had replaced it, the scars of psychological and physical pain, abuse… Her hair had lost its shine, the silver and gold glimmer that had been its trademark now dim.

He knew she still held it from him, so much of her strength going to shielding the ones she loved. Almost two days now, a day and two nights after shedding unconsciousness.

'I beg you, lower it, gwilwileth; all your strength is needed for healing, not protecting…'

'I cannot…' she whispered, tears escaping from under her closed eyelids.

'You must…' Elrond returned, as Galadriel quietly rose from her seat and left.

'I can take it, please, let it go…' he whispered, sitting up. He moved closer, but feared to touch her, uncertain on how much she could bear. 'You have to guide me, you need to tell me what to do…'

She was so drained, so fragile, and still there was such perseverance…

'What if it would break both of us…?' she spoke, her exhaustion becoming too much for her alone to bear, it seemed.

Elrond could feel it, the slow unveiling, only a little now, while he wished for so much more.

'Then so be it…'

Her crying broke that of his heart which had been spared before, and he could no longer take it. Cradling her in his arms, he felt her hands grabbing his clothing, so eager for his touch, still trusting him, after such a betrayal…

Then suddenly it was there, a part of him too, even more vivid and terrifying than he had feared. The pain was shared, and he was glad to endure it, knowing it was spared her. Ever-present, dull but persistent, like tiredness, together with the fever from the poison that still lingered in her body.

How much was she a part of him, linked beyond severing? The lover who had carried his children, who received him in her arms, always so strong, even now…

And then… Violation…

When she finally slept, not the fake sleep he had imagined her being in before, but truly resting, he still remained beside her. He listened to every whisper of her mind, knowing, understanding more than he had wished to.

Would he ever be able to truly sleep again? He would give it up, he decided, if that was what was asked of him…

Galadriel appeared in the doorway, and he smiled at her, weakly, rising from the bed, finally able to go, as his mind sustained the link with Celebrían's.

They embraced as she came, and he left, stepping into the next room, looking over those that sat there waiting.

No one noticed him at first, Elladan staring into the blankness of the early night, Elrohir, bowed forward, head in his hands. Mithrandir sat with his pipe, his eyes fixed on something outside, Glorfindel beside him. Celeborn sat with Arwen, trying to console her as much as he could. She saw him first.

'Ada…' she called, stumbling over the hem of her dress as she tried to come towards him. Elrond took some quick steps forward and caught her, slowly guiding her to the floor with him, cradling her in his arms, much as he had done earlier with her mother.

'All is well, my evenstar, my little one… Do not worry anymore…' He stroked her hair and shushed her, as she cried with long wails, holding on to him as if she intended never to release him again.

'I heard you speak of Mandos…' she managed, not looking at him.

Elrond pulled her closer, and she buried her face in his clothing.

'It was not intended for other ears,' he whispered, apologising in a way.

Slowly rising again, Arwen looked up at him.

'Can I see her?'

Elrond nodded slowly.

'But be still, she sleeps.'

Watching his daughter, together with Celeborn, join Galadriel, Elrond extended an arm to Elladan, who had stood watching, not wishing to impose. Catching it, he watched his son hold back, the same look in his eyes as the last time they had exchanged it.

'Is she… out of danger?'

Elrond pulled him close, but did not answer. Elrohir neared as well.

'Is there anything we can do?'

With a smile, Elrohir too was drawn into his father's arms.

'Be here, when she asks for you, that is all,' he whispered.

Watching both their faces consent, Elrond allowed them to go, turning to Glorfindel and Mithrandir.

'I wish to thank you both…'

Mithrandir rose, a warm smile on his face, meant for the Elf-lord.

'No need to thank anyone, I am certain. But I will leave for now, for fear of clouding the room too much with smoke.'

Elrond waited before facing Glorfindel.

'I must return in a moment.'

Glorfindel nodded solemnly.

'How is she?'

Elrond took a deep breath, his voice low, Glorfindel the only one to hear.

'I do not know, my friend… It is too early. Do not tell anyone… I fear that while she will recover swiftly in body, she will not in mind…'

Catching Elrond's arms, Glorfindel tried to fathom the meaning of those words.

'Are you saying what I think you are?

Elrond cleared his throat, and suddenly it seemed as if the barriers were all near disintegrating. Glorfindel watched the Lord of Imladris, desperately trying to maintain his composure. Then, as by lightning, it was gone, and he was serene again.

'I cannot speak the words, Glorfindel, for they will destroy me… And I have to be strong for her, I have to console the children…'

Glorfindel felt Elrond release his grip, and watched him turn around, entering the other room again. He shook his head.

'But who consoles you, meldir?'

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

'The Separation' indicates the parting of the fëa and the hroa, spirit and physical form. The body dies, while the spirit is summoned to the Halls of Mandos.

heb-lim: hold on

acharn: vengeance

Ada: father (shortening of 'Adar')

celeb loth-nîn: my silver flower (literally: silver flower-my)

There are several passages concerning Celebrían's being waylaid in the Misty Mountains. I chose to use the apparent line of events mentioned in Appendix A of Lord of the Rings. The lines heading the chapter were simply the most ominous I could find, and I couldn't help myself using them.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	16. Parting

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

This one is for Anna: it's nice to have someone nag you about a new chapter… though it might not be entirely what you wanted…

[…]_but she lay under a great cloud of fear and she loved Middle-earth no longer; so that at the last Elrond granted her prayer, and she passed to the Grey Havens and went into the West, never to return.  
_**from 'The Peoples of Middle-earth', the History of Middle-earth, volume 12, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

**Chapter 16 Parting**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Celeborn and Galadriel spent the autumn evening under the clear night sky, but they did not exactly enjoy themselves.

Having seen their daughter change, in a matter of months, from an independent and headstrong woman into a withdrawn and unhappy presence, no longer finding delight in anything anymore, had been painful.

Each experienced their own qualms; Galadriel, foreseeing this so long ago, still grieved over not timely recognising it; considering that, if she had, perhaps, it could have been prevented. Celeborn, in turn, regretted not collecting his daughter from Imladris, realising full well that he could not have made a difference; only three of the fifteen Elves of Celebrían's escort had survived.

But if silence seemed to be the only thing between them, the careless observer was sorely mistaken. The threads of thought were thickly interwoven, and though there were stays in their mental conversation, every once in a while, it was never so for long. Both knew of their separate worries, and subsequently helped the other deal with it.

Something Elrond and Celebrían had still not returned to.

Elrond watched the two Elves, all the while standing silently in the shadows of the balcony above. Quietly he retreated into the house, replacing the book he had been clutching a moment ago on one of the shelves. Even now, when all was supposed to be going better, reading still could not take his mind off Celebrían. He had intended to try and read a little on the balcony, where he had often enjoyed a mild evening such as the one now, but as soon as his eyes noticed Galadriel and Celeborn, he had frozen.

Without a sound, he made his way into an adjoining room. Catching sight of himself in a mirror, he couldn't help but express some disbelief concerning his appearance. For a moment Elrond paused. He was pale, eyes tired… Looking, dare he say the word, aged. So the millennia had finally caught up… Or rather months of not resting…

Making a grimace at his reflection, he left the mirror and entered the bordering room, his bedroom, their bedroom. He lingered often at this time, almost every night, not willing to make Celebrían in any way uncomfortable.

He lovingly observed her, legs pulled up to chest-height, her arms tightly wrapped around them. She was asleep, he knew, for her thoughts were serene, or as undisturbed as they could possibly be.

She had not asked it of him. Not yet. But she would, he knew.

_And how can I not let you go?_

He quietly lowered onto his side of the bed and propped a pillow behind his back. Listening to her inner voice, softly speaking, to no one in particular, he felt her touch his mind, delightful little touches, that would have made him wake her on any other occasion. Now he did the only thing he could. Allow access to his cheerful thoughts, closely sealing off the bad ones. He had to be healer now, nothing else. _Give_ comfort, not _need_ it.

He would let her go, he knew, cautiously guarding the thought. In the end he could not ask her to stay. It would not be living, having to be protected from all. Though, if necessary, he would gladly do so for the remainder of their days in Middle-earth. And walk a half-living life beside her…

When Celebrían woke, she found Elrond, still sitting with the pillow behind him, asleep. Massaging her aching joints, she stayed watching him for a moment. Then she left their bed and went to dress.

The white dress she chose was one of the few that did not irritate her skin where the wounds had once been situated. Not feeling like braiding it, she left her hair loose, and collected a white shawl from deep within the closet.

The morning was cold for the time of year, she reflected, covering herself up further, making her way through the corridors. Though it would soon be heated by the sun reaching over the mountain ridges. The part of the house she walked in was not full of activity yet, but she doubted it would be, for a long while yet. Since Elrond seemed to have abandoned most of his duties, no one seemed to have business here.

Entering the Hall of Fire, she assured herself it was deserted before making for the far end. There she took the chair Elrond usually occupied, near the ever-burning fire, from where she was able to oversee the entire hall.

~~*~~

The sensation of his fingertips on the ancient leather book covers always did this to him. His Peaceful Pondering State, Celebrían called it. There was no intention to take any one of the thousands of books from the shelves, but he simply needed their feel, their smell, their presence around him, to take his mind off important things for a moment. He was reading the titles without recognising them, simply recalling some of his own or Celebrían's favourite stories in them, or those of the children… Arwen was especially partial to the story of Isildur's rescue of the fruit of Nimloth when she was younger…

The sound of someone rushing up became evident. Elrond turned, clasping his hands behind his back.

Into the chamber charged Glorfindel, an expression on his face that made the Lord of Imladris worry instantly.

'What is the matter? Something has happened?'

Glorfindel seemed out of breath, but not because of his spurt up to the Lord of Imladris's library. How in Elbereth's sake was he supposed to tell Elrond this? Glorfindel did not know… He truly did not know…

'Elrond…'

Coming closer, Glorfindel nervously moved his hands. Elrond's brow darkened. Rarely did Glorfindel address him so openly… Indeed the few times when he had, it concerned grave situations.

Tilting his head, Elrond's gaze became searching.

'What is it?'

'You must remain calm…' Glorfindel's tone of voice did not achieve what his words asked for. Rather the opposite. 'Elladan and Elrohir have already ridden out, they received the news first, since they were patrolling the outer ridges of the Misty Mountains…'

'Tell me, Glorfindel,' Elrond retorted, having enough of the other Elf's delaying.

Glorfindel did not immediately sound any answer.

'The party was waylaid in Redhorn Pass…'

Elrond hesitated, catching the arm Glorfindel offered. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The travelling party… Celebrían… He had to go, she needed him… He caught Glorfindel's arm forcing him around, pushing him forward.

'Get a horse ready… Do not stall, my friend, not now…'

'They have already gone, Elrond, they are with many…' Glorfindel did not let Elrond push him on. Elrond looked at him, desperate.

'Get me a horse… Now.'

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes concerned…

'She did not make it, Elrond, Celebrían, she is…'

~~*~~

With a jerk Elrond was up, suddenly fully awake, panicking and panting. Bringing a hand to his head he tried to calm down. How could she be gone? And why did Glorfindel not do as he asked?

Pulling himself together as much as he could, regulating his breath, he rebuked himself.

_It did not happen, just anxiety… All is well… Merely foolish dreams…_

The nightmare had been a variation on a theme that seemed to return every other night. Each time he failed; either he came too late, or was not able to do enough to save her, and someone told him she had not survived… But he had never before been held back from going to her…

Extending his arm in order to feel Celebrían beside him, he was alarmed when he discovered her absence.

A sudden fear, searing from deeper within him than anything he had ever felt before, made him stumble out of the bed, grabbing the robes he had left hanging over a chair the previous evening. There were not many locations where she could be. He found where he sought for her first.

Her voice echoed through the empty hall, and Elrond dreaded to enter her presence, for fear of startling her, for fear she would stop. She had not sung ever since…it.

There were no words, only a melody; a sad, downhearted one. But she sang…

Closing his eyes, he pressed his back against the wall, the cold of the stones penetrating his clothing, his hands clutching the sides of his robes. _Do not stop, my tinúviel… Please do not stop…_

Elrond had not detected Elladan, but his son had observed him.

Following his mother everywhere, desperate to ensure nothing would happen to her ever again, he had silently followed as she had left her rooms. Once she had entered the Hall, he had waited, had listened, before the Lord of Imladris arrived. Still he would not leave. He suspected his father was less stable than his mother at the moment, despite all the apparent signs to the contrary.

The singing stopped and Elladan buried his head in his hands, hiding what was still visible of his face with long dark strands of hair.

Elrohir stooped and rested his hands on his brother's knees.

'Mother is inside?'

Elladan sounded an affirmative sob, which made Elrohir sit down next to his twin, pulling him close and resting his head on the other's shoulder. The youngest Lord of Imladris sighed.

'Perhaps it would be better if you follow father today…'

As soon as Celebrían had spotted Elrond, she had ceased her song, not wanting to worry him. But she realised the wrong had already been done. With the most enchanting smile left to her, she extended a hand to him.

Elrond neared fast, almost impatiently, yet caught her hand gently, looking down. Celebrían brought his hand to her lips, pressing them against it.

'I could not wake you, meleth-nîn, you slept so soundly.'

He sat down on his heels and smiled.

'Yet, I wish you had.'

Celebrían smiled.

'I should have stayed.'

Elrond shook his head and cast down his eyes.

'If you wish to go, gwilwileth, you can…'

Trying to let the somewhat equivocal remark go by, Celebrían looked away. She had once cautioned he should take a chance with love, that not everyone he loved would leave… In light of that, how could she go? How could she possibly stay? Every unsuspected movement of anything around her made her remember… She turned to him again.

'Take me for a walk, Elrond, like we used to.'

A nod, and an expression on his face that indicated surprise, relief, but most of all; gratefulness. Rising, offering his arm, he folded her hand into his, as he always did, escorting her out of the large Hall, into the general direction of the gardens.

There had never before been an uncomfortable silence between them, but this seemed as close as ever. Too many unspoken issues continued to hang in the air.

When Celebrían released his arm, Elrond prepared to move a little away from her. Apparently she was not comfortable with him yet. She had trusted him when she had just woken, but during the weeks that followed that disappeared. Weeks had turned into months.

Therefore it was much to his surprise, that, instead of moving away, she placed her arm around his waist, and he could only follow her example. Her voice was hushed, only for him to hear.

'When I first came to Imladris, it was because I was worried for mother, her longing for the sea, to leave Middle-earth. I never understood those feelings until now…'

Elrond listened, his head bowed, silent, and Celebrían continued.

'I think you understand her feelings, I think you have recognised them for a long time… Because of the Rings…'

Elrond watched her.

'How long have you known this?'

Celebrían smiled, and suddenly she seemed so much older than he was, older even than the world…

'I suspected that you held one even before I met you again in Lindon, I only knew for certain, years later, when Mithrandir came.' She sighed. 'And my mother… When she gave me the Elessar it was because she did not need it anymore. Meaning something had replaced it…'

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

'But you guessed I held one?'

Celebrían slowly nodded.

'A feeling… There simply was _something_ about you that told me… Strangely enough, it was only logic and deduction that made me discover my mother was a Ringbearer.'

Elrond nodded.

'Your mother has always been able to conceal such matters better than I.'

Celebrían squeezed his side, a reassuring touch.

'Perhaps I have grown closer to you over the years, and know you better.'

Elrond stopped and caught her hands. He had distinguished something of her old self just now, it was still here, it had not gone entirely…

'Do you know how much I love you, my…'

Celebrían stepped closer and embraced him tightly before he could finish the sentence.

'It is one of the few things in this world I am sure of.'

'Good,' he whispered back, enclosing her within his arms.

_But you know not what turmoil is in my mind, beloved husband._

Elrond pulled away and looked at her, fear in his eyes.

'You… Are you well, my love?'

Her answer came with a sigh.

'I will be, Elrond, I will be soon.'

Slowly he bent forward to kiss her, and for a moment he died a thousand deaths, believing she would pull away. It was an unfounded feeling, but one only taken away when her warm lips touched his. _They were warm…_

'Celebrían…' he whispered, breaking the touch, his hands catching hers. 'Tell what you feel… I need to know.' Raising fingers for a delicate touch, he traced her face. 'Tell me what is in your heart, gwilwileth.'

Celebrían searched for physical contact, but averted her eyes. She paused a long while before speaking, reluctance imbedded in her every word.

'There is very little I feel, Elrond. I feel fear… Fear that could drive us further apart than just a stretch of land and sea.'

He pulled her with him, to one of the stone benches, but instead of sitting down next to him, she let go of his hands and knelt before him, her ever-cold hands on his thighs. He tried to hide his tears, but she shook her head. The sight of her only increased them. Celebrían leant closer and began to kiss him, his face, his hands…

'I sleep, but do not rest, husband. I love, but dare not feel.'

Elrond sat silent, catching her hands, looking down at her. As he lowered the last barriers between them, those holding his consent for her to leave, she too, could not suppress tears.

'You would allow me to go?' Disbelief, thankfulness, and a dozen other emotions, he could hear in her voice, read in her features, and he brought his fingers to her face once more.

'After winter, I shall let you go to the Grey Havens.'

For a moment, she was out of breath, unable to voice words she could not find. Elrond waited, a fragile smile on his lips. Finally her eyes found his again.

'I will always be with you. You know that, meleth-nîn.'

A feeling of abandonment crept over him more quickly than he had anticipated. Yet his smile remained, as he brought his other hand to her face too.

'How will I cope without you?'

'You managed admirably for so long, before…' Celebrían touched his cheek, her eyes heartening him. 'And I know you shall follow in a little while… I waited, I shall again.'

Strangely enough, the months that followed their decision were cheerful.

Not forced to keep his thoughts to himself, Elrond was able to lie down and sleep, speaking to her, as he had for so long, joining her in dreams.

It was with great love and respect that Celebrían watched him, the dark hair spilling over the pillow, chest heaving, breath audible to her perceptive ears. For how many years would she have to miss that sight? She tried to collect all the small details she had almost taken for granted all those years. Relishing them in her mind… So little time left until spring… One side of her was glad, the other remorseful.

Carefully, she followed the outline of his face, and watched him react when she touched his ear, tracing the contours.

She reclined beside him, her arm around his waist, placing a leg over one of his, her lips close to his ear.

'Echur, herven…'

Elrond lazily smiled.

'Is it morning already, my Lady?'

Celebrían let her hand slip underneath his shirt.

'Not yet, my Lord.'

She felt his breath swell for a moment, and his heartbeat increase.

Then he turned onto his side and kissed her, his hand tenderly on her waist.

It was with the touch of a healer, that Elrond sought out the remaining evidence of the minor wounds scattered over her body, injuries that had been inflicted so many months ago. They had almost gone entirely, and he silently admired his own workmanship, assuring himself once more that, in time, no marks whatsoever would be discernable.

As he made to pull away, Celebrían caught his hand.

'Touch me, melethron, I wish you to…'

Elrond looked at her, spreading his fingers on her stomach.

'Certain, gwilwileth?'

Celebrían smiled, pressing herself closer against him.

'How can I not be, when being in such capable hands?'

Elrond did not smile at her, but instead lowered his face towards her bare shoulder, where the worst of the physically inflicted wounds had been situated. As his lips met the scar tissue, she closed her eyes, trying to relax, not to let him notice her unease. But he did, of course he did…

His hand went through her hair as she felt him leave her shoulder, rising until he looked down at her. Elrond was unsure how, and if, he should go on.

'Should I discontinue?'

Holding back his hair, Celebrían rose to meet his lips.

'No…'

Allowing himself to be pulled back down, Elrond found her lips again, then withdrawing and sitting up. Before Celebrían had the time to ask what was the matter, he had removed his shirt and swiftly returned into her arms.

'Have I told you how beautiful you are?' he whispered, feeling her arch her back under his tenders, her fingers clutching his upper arms.

Celebrían closed her eyes, shivering under his touch. Then a smile, a true smile.

Elrond kissed her neck and inhaled her fragrance, smelled her hair, which had begun to shine again, if only weakly. He too, was desperately trying to store an image of her in his mind, one he could forever hold close.

Celebrían sat in the library, alone at this moment, since Elrond had left her to retrieve something from the nearby study. As she heard someone enter, her welcoming smile was radiant, expecting her husband.

Instead, not that it diminished her smile in any way, she found her youngest, who paused and waited patiently for consent to enter. Celebrían had noticed something along the lines of a pact between the members of the household, even their family. Where most would previously have entered without permission of any sort, all now ascertained they were not intruding, or by some means interrupting one of the scarce private moments the Lord and Lady of Imladris had left together until the coming of spring. Celebrían was amused by it, as she extended her hand to her daughter, bidding her to sit down.

'Come, my little one, I have something to give you, for I shall not be needing it much longer.'

Arwen sat beside her, as Celebrían unfastened the jewel she had carried for so many years, and which had no doubt played an essential part in her physical recovery…

'It was given to me by your grandmother, when she felt the need for it no longer… And now I present it to you.'

Arwen looked from her mother's face to the emerald brooch in her hand. Celebrían smiled.

'I feel it must remain here, with you, though I know not why.'

With a gentle movement she secured it around her daughter's neck, for Arwen seemed reluctant to take it herself. Catching her face, Celebrían kissed the forehead before embracing her, feeling Arwen press herself against her chest. Withdrawing a little, she soothingly swept away the tears from her daughter's face. So like her father… Speaking of which…

Celebrían made Arwen rise, taking her hand and leading her out of the library, finding Elrond on a bench in the hallway outside. Apparently he had not wanted to intrude on mother and daughter. With a smile he extended an arm to Arwen, who sat down next to him and rested her head against his shoulder, tears filling her eyes again. Celebrían sat down on Elrond's other side, placing her head against his shoulder blade, her arms around him, catching one of Arwen's hands.

It was Elrond, who discerned and subsequently motioned Elladan to join them.

As his eldest son sat down beside his mother, and Celebrían pulled him closer with a rueful smile, Elrond met his gaze.

'Where is your brother?'

Elladan nodded to where Elrohir was now standing, having appeared as his brother was called by his father. Elrond kissed Arwen on the forehead prior to rising from the bench, blindly finding Celebrían's outstretched hand for a moment. Releasing it, he proceeded towards his younger son.

Elrond knew he had somewhat overlooked his sons. And where Elladan had been more emotional during all of this, easier to reach out to, quicker to accept, Elrohir had acted strangely detached.

But the father saw the pain of the son, just as much as the other way around. Slowing down, Elrond extended his arm and pulled him close, feeling hands desperately searching for support. Bowing his head, forehead against shoulder, he seemed to have closed himself from the world, until Elrond distinguished an uncontrolled sobbing which must have lain hidden for such a while.

After a while, Elrond gently withdrew a little, and watched his own eyes return the gaze. He smiled, encouraging.

'Go to your mother, Elrohir…'

Elrond watched Celebrían rise and meet Elrohir, stroking his hair as he embraced her, a little taller than she.

This moment, they were as they always had been; the close-knit family he was so proud of. Perhaps they would be once more, in time… Elrond returned to them, not wishing to squander any of these sacred moments any longer.

The first morning of spring had the Last Homely House awake early, but with none of the happy busyness it had known in the past. The Lady and Lord of Imladris had not needed to wake, for they had not slept.

Having watched Anar rise, making the morning fog escape from the forest grounds, drifting up, moistening the air, they had not moved. Elrond stood behind Celebrían, his arms around her, pressing himself against her, once in a while kissing her neck, holding the silvery hair away, watching the glimmer of gold that was returning ever so slowly.

The previous day and evening had been spent with those closest to them, the children of course, and Celeborn and Galadriel, but also Glorfindel and Erestor. They had told stories, had laughed, had celebrated. For that was how it was going to be.

'I will not let you remain here with bad memories alone,' Celebrían had told him. 'For we shall be reunited, and we have been lucky. I consider all those that did not have that blessing, and realise we should be grateful.'

At midnight they had left the others, wandered up to the higher terraces, looking out over the impressive vale.

'I shall miss this,' Celebrían had spoken. 'For never shall I return here, where so many happy memories lie.'

Then the night had been spent with the singing of favourite songs, soft whispers and lovemaking, becoming more desperate as the morning neared.

Elrond was not to travel with her to the Grey Havens, nor anyone of the household, except her large escort; Elves who would, too, be leaving for the Blessed Realm.

Celebrían knew her husband feared he would not be able to let her go, once there, and end up coming with her. And though there was a part of her wishing for that with all her heart, she knew it would not do. It would not be finished.

They would part here, at home.

Turning around, seeking a tighter embrace, wanting to feel the warmth of his body once more, she caught the glint of tears in his eyes.

'Why are you crying?' she asked him, her face smiling, her eyes painfully relaying a different emotion.

Elrond shook his head, not averting his eyes.

'Separation can be a terrifying thing.'

Pulling him close, her lips finding his, tasting him once more, she threw her arms around his neck, feeling him answer her embrace, and the mild trembling of one that lets go of sorrow, sadness.

'It is fine, husband, all will be well. We shall meet again.'

Elrond whispered, lips close to her ear.

'Until that time, I shall wander in my dreams, to a valley below the western foothills of the Misty Mountains, and there we shall meet.'

'We shall, my husband, I am certain of it.'

Elrond watched Celebrían take leave of her parents, quick silent exchanges going between them. Then of Arwen, who fled into his arms as Celebrían released her. Elladan held her tightly as she flung her arms around him, kissing both his cheeks. Elrohir waited patiently, and Celebrían shook her head at him, before he lifted her as she embraced him securely, pressing her lips against his forehead.

She came last to him, and Arwen released her father, joining her grandparents, seeking her grandfather's safe arms instead.

Elrond gave his most supporting smile to Celebrían, caressing her hair for the last time, until finally he nodded shortly.

'Tenn' enomentielva, Celebrían.'

Her answer was almost silent, as she sought refuge in his arms.

'Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, Elrond.'

Shortly, his lips sought hers, and afterwards both drew back a little, gazes locking. Without speaking, Elrond led Celebrían to her horse, helping her mount, as he had always done when she was departing. Celebrían looked down on him, and extended a hand, touching his face for a moment. Elrond caught her hand and kissed the palm. His eyes pleaded.

_Go now, my love, for I fear I shall do something foolish._

Celebrían smiled, and impulsively bent downwards, catching her husband's collar, pulling him close for one last shared kiss in Middle-earth. Releasing him, she steered her horse to turn, and together with the others began her journey.

As he watched the horses disappear out of sight, Elrond prayed she would not look back. If she had, he would not have been able to stay. He would have gone with her without a second thought.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

tinúviel: archaic 'nightingale'

meleth-nîn: my love (Sindarin)

gwilwileth: butterfly (Sindarin)

echur herven: stir, husband (Sindarin)(echur comes from an uncertain source)

melethron: lover (masculine) (Sindarin)

tenn' enomentielva: Quenya 'until we meet again'

elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo: (Quenya) a star shines on the hour of our meeting

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	17. A Greater Theme

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_'Then Aragorn, being now the Heir of Isildur, was taken with his mother to dwell in the House of Elrond; and Elrond took the place of his father and came to love him as a son of his own. _[…]'  
**From Lord of the Rings Appendix A**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

**Chapter 17 A Greater Theme**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

It was on a summer evening, with the unmistakable tension of a summer storm in the air, and the Lord of Imladris had been in his study, his daughter not far away, softly reading to him. Something in her voice unmistakably remembered him of Celebrían, and he was only partially listening to the actual story.

Arwen had been aware of this for a while, and ceased mid-sentence, closing the book.

'Ada?'

Elrond looked up.

'Yes, my Undómiel?'

'You have not heard a word I said.'

Arwen watched her father smile apologetically, rising from his seat.

'Let us go outside, my little one, and wait for the rain.'

Taking his arm, the only remaining Lady of Imladris let her father escort her out of the rooms, onto the balcony. Staring into the shimmering distance, he placed his arm around his daughter and felt her arm slip about him as well. He sighed softly, involuntarily.

'Your mother loved this moment, the expectance of rain in the air…'

Arwen positioned her head against his shoulder.

'I remember.'

Elrond rested his head on hers.

'I know…'

She did not respond, realising very well that there was no real reply, right or wrong.

It was not often that he spoke of her mother in such a melancholy way. Arwen knew of her fathers worries, but did not believe she possessed her mother's ability to chase them away.

'Does the Council still trouble you?'

Elrond smiled and slowly nodded.

'But I doubt you wish to hear of it, my daughter. It seems of little interest to you, methinks.'

Arwen caught his hand.

'It does interest me father, I would want to learn.'

Narrowing his eyes, Elrond studied the face of his youngest child.

'Many things are occurring now, in Middle-earth, and many of them do not seem to be related in the slightest… But they all are. Everything is interconnected; a part of something greater. And all of it points at what is to come.'

'I wish to know, Adar, and who could teach me better than you?'

The first soft rumblings of the storm came together with raindrops. Elrond smiled at Arwen. An urgency came over him, sudden, unexplainable.

'We shall speak of this in the morning.'

His daughter kissed him on the cheek.

'Do rest.'

Elrond nodded, and watched her leave him, before turning. Stepping back, he observed the raindrops beginning to fall, drizzling onto the railing, the stone tiles slowly changing colour, from light to dark.

There was something, just now, trying to touch his mind, he couldn't quite grasp it yet, but there had been. He inhaled the sweet air of freshly wetted trees and flowers deeply.

_How many years_, he wondered. _How many years shall I have to witness this without you? _Even knowing she was watching the same stars, likely experiencing the same upon the arrival of rain, could not reconcile his dejection.

When small puddles began to form on the balcony, Elrond bowed his head and followed his daughter's advice.

He felt her breath on his face, her voice in his mind, in such a way that it could have been her lips near his ear. If it had been only that, he would not have woken, but a touch on his chest made it unavoidable.

_Open you eyes, husband…_

Dressed in a magnificent grey-blue, her hands were warm as they caught his, her eyes were glimmering as she looked down at him.

'It was you, my love?' He smiled at her, feeling her fingers playfully touch his ear.

_I felt your call, thelion…_

'Im taen an-le, Celebrían…'

Her laughter was filled with the vivacity it had long lacked.

_We will soon be reunited, pen-bara, the longest waiting has already passed._

Elrond watched the angelic image of his wife, with a smile, only deep down doubting, as ever, whether it was truly her, from far away, or his own mind, projecting her image into the dream. Or…

Ignoring it, he sat up, moving towards her.

Celebrían touched his lips with subtle fingers.

_Our daughter worries for you, my love._

Elrond nodded, pulling her closer.

'I know it, gwilwileth. She seems to have my mind for seriousness, and I am reluctant to encourage, for fear of driving her into my habits.'

_Why not send her to Lothlórien? My mother can teach her as well as you, as can my father._

He smiled, then turned more serious.

'I worry for Elladan and Elrohir.'

Celebrían's hands rested on his chest, playing with the buttons.

_Do you wish to tell me_?

Elrond nodded, surprised by the vividness of the dream. He could even smell her hair… Slowly he brushed his cheek against her forehead.

'They have not ceased their war with the orcs, which they started when you left. They rode with Gondor during the battle at the Field of Celebrant, and now they trail the paths around Imladris and beyond, seeking revenge…'

_You wish to tell them it is wrong, but do not know how? _she asked him, her eyes locking with his, bending towards him, her lips closing in on his.

As Elrond moved his hand to touch her face, answer her kiss, another voice penetrated the dream.

'My Lord…'

Turning in his empty bed, to find someone standing by the side, Elrond needed a moment to shake the dream, putting his hand through his hair. _I am sorry, gwilwileth… _Then he nodded at the Elf.

'What is the matter, Erestor?'

'Your sons, my Lord, they have returned. Bringing bad tidings…'

Elrond drew away the covers and left the bed, finding some clothing to go over his thin sleeping attire. As he glanced at the window, he perceived the night still present outside, and turned to his councillor.

'Pray tell, what news?'

'The Lords of Imladris rode out, my Lord, with Arathorn, son of Arador…'

Elrond gave him a dark stare.

'But they are well, Erestor?'

'They are waiting, not willing to go to the infirmary until speaking with you.'

Elrond was quickly out of his rooms, finding his sons in the hallway outside.

Elladan and Elrohir were drenched with rain, their faces grim. Both sported minor injuries, but Elrond judged those to be too inconsequential to worry about. Embracing each of them, his gaze rested on Elrohir.

'What is it that you wish to tell me?'

Elrohir bowed his head. Still, his answer came without wavering.

'Arathorn was slain during our endeavour in the North, father. An arrow pierced his eye. There was nothing we could do.'

Elrond swallowed. This was no time for the Chieftain of the Dúnedain to fall.

What had he said to Arwen? All is related, part of a greater theme?

'And what of Arathorn's wife and her son?'

The soft wailing of a small child came from behind his sons, as a dark-haired young woman, equally drenched, stepped forward.

'Master Elrond, your sons insisted on me accompanying them here, when they brought my husband's body home.' She bowed her head shortly.

Elrond returned the civility.

'Lady Gilraen.'

She seemed tired, as she cradled her son in her arms, desperate to keep him still in the dark night.

Afterwards he would wonder what had possessed him, but Elrond extended his arms for the boy, and felt his clothing soaked as Gilraen readily handed him over. With a shush he whispered to the dark-haired child, which stopped its crying to intently listen. The Lord of Imladris spoke the soothing words he had spoken so often before. He imagined the darkness scared the child, if not that, likely the thunder of before. Then he returned to the Lady Gilraen, as the two year old in his arms rested his head against his shoulder.

'If you entrust him to me for now, my Lady, I propose you have a change of clothes and some rest. We shall speak in the morning.'

Gilraen nodded, and stroked the dark hair on her son's head.

'I gladly give him into your charge, Master Elrond. And your proposal is most appreciated.'

Elrond turned to Erestor and nodded.

'Would you escort the Lady to some accommodation, Erestor?'

Erestor offered his arm, and looked back at Elrond before guiding Gilraen away.

'Do you wish me to send someone?'

Elrond shook his head and turned, eying his sons.

'Get those injuries examined, and we shall speak afterwards.'

Placing a protective hand against the child's head, Elrond strode back into his chambers.

There he entered a part of the quarters that had long been vacant. From one of the closets he collected a white tunic and trousers, once Elladan's, and placed the child on a nearby chair. Quickly he found some sheets and placed them on the small unoccupied bed.

The boy seemed to be nodding off, head on chin, breath peaceful, eyes closed. With experienced fingers, Elrond removed the sodden garments from the half-waking child, replacing them with the dry Elvish clothing. Lifting him, Elrond felt small arms and legs cling to him, head resting against his chest once more.

Looking down at the child, Elrond shook his head.

_I-Estel ned I-Edain?_

Then he lowered him into the bed, which had once belonged to Arwen when she was still sleeping close to her parents, many years ago. With a frown he watched the boy curl up. Slowly he nodded. This child was in need of protection, fatherless in a world where even grown men could not protect themselves. Isildur's Heir… For this child the Dark Lord would soon be searching relentlessly…

'Indeed, it shall be Estel,' he whispered, pulling up the sheets, covering the boy.

Outside he found his sons already waiting. He cleared his throat.

'I have a favour to ask of you.'

Elrohir nodded, somewhat relieved their father had decided not to lecture them.

'Anything, Adar, you know that.'

Elrond smiled, motioning them to walk on a little, not willing to risk waking the boy.

'You must keep this to yourselves… No one is to know of this as yet…'

The Elven Lords nodded solemnly. Elladan met his father's eyes.

'You will not send them away, will you?'

Elrond shook his head.

'Needless to say, I will not. But I have another thing to ask of you.' He waited for his sons to look up before continuing. 'I plan to travel to Lórien tomorrow and take your sister to see the Lord and Lady. I shall not be long, but while I am away, I bid the both of you stay here.'

He perceived some reluctance in their faces, but neither voiced any. Then each gave a firm nod.

'Very well, do not speak of what has transpired here this evening with Arwen, I shall do so myself during our journey. If she discovers a child in this house, even I shall not be able to disentangle her from it.'

It was a rare occurrence for a party of less than twenty riders to cross the Misty Mountains after the tragedy of the Lady of Imladris, but the following of Elrond and Arwen on their journey was not a regularity either. Over fifty Elves were with them, most armed and distrustful of every slight unusual movement.

It was the first time in over four centuries that Elrond had taken the Redhorn Pass, and even now, the only reason was because he felt the need to. He feared his reaction, he had for a long time, simply sitting by the fire in Imladris. And now it was going to be over, he had decided. _No longer will you let this haunt you so._

He had seen and relived most of Celebrían's experience through her, but now he found himself scanning the area around him. Not because he was afraid of an attack, but rather an almost unconscious fear of seeing evidence of what had happened, within him. An illogical apprehension, since how could it possibly still be evident, after such a long time?

Arwen was more silent than usual, even though it had not been the first time she had travelled this road. Celeborn had come to collect her last time.

Elrond's greatest trepidation was over reaching Lothlórien, though.

For how would he find it now, without her who had made him love it in the first place?

Elrohir leant against the stone pillar near his old nursery, knowing Elladan was engaged in the library, focussing on some of Imladris's responsibilities.

_He_, meanwhile, had been made a childminder.

His father had spoken at great length with the Lady Gilraen on the morning after their arrival, and the same afternoon, he and Arwen had departed for Lórien, leaving instructions to the entire household, promising he would be returning within the week.

Even if he was slightly disappointed with having been given a less important task, Elrohir could not refrain from smiling at Estel, for that was how his father had decided to name the boy for now, when he came running from the rooms.

The child had seemed afraid of the tall dark-haired Elf earlier on, but Elrohir had had no trouble helping him overcome that initial shyness.

Now, it seemed Estel pulled him along in his games, and he found himself slowly running from a giggling toddler, just as he had years ago, when Arwen was younger.

And, it was taking his mind off… other things.

As he took Estel on his arm, Elrohir walked to the stables, his mind not with the small boy's chattering. In the beginning, all might have been Elladan's idea, but over the years it had turned into a quest of sorts for him too. It was their duty, to Middle-earth, to the memory of their mother, to exact vengeance.

Too many of their kin had already been slain by orcs… He would not let it happen again… But in a way, they were responsible for Arathorn's death… They had widowed Gilraen, taken Estel's father. Pressure on his shoulder made him come out of his brooding.

'Rohir, holding too tight.' The boy looked at him. Elrohir smiled.

'I am sorry, Estel.'

Offering his hand to his daughter, Elrond helped her dismount, observing Galadriel and Celeborn nearing. Arwen embraced her grandfather with a loud expression of joy. Elrond stood by, ill at ease, and Celeborn looked at him, as Arwen turned to her grandmother.

'Are you well?'

The Lord of Imladris nodded slowly.

'Quite well, though I am not sure if it was wise to come.'

Celeborn shook his head.

'And instead you would hide away in Imladris for the remainder of your years here? Celebrían would not wish that, and no such thing shall happen, not while you are _here_, at least. Arda is a dark place even without your gloominess.' Celeborn grinned, and patted Elrond's arm. 'We shall have you play and sing yet, my friend.'

Galadriel looked at Celeborn before smiling at Elrond.

'Leave him be, husband.' She motioned Elrond, as Arwen took her grandfather's arm. 'Join me, Master Elrond.'

With a short bow, Elrond complied, and the two Elves walked off together, into the silent Golden Wood, leaving Arwen and Celeborn. Elrond found himself at peace, all of a sudden, and he tried to ascertain when it had happened, but could not.

'And what brings you to the city of the Caras Galadhon, Elrond?' Galadriel asked him, as they removed themselves further from listening ears, a smile curving her lips, her eyes betraying she was aware of the answer already.

'Many things unspoken, my Lady, but officially one thing alone. To bring my daughter here. To learn.'

Galadriel smiled again.

'I guessed of this… Upon your own initiative?'

Elrond looked at her, trying to read from her face some confirmation.

'It was not.'

'You fear that which you envision, but yet you follow it?'

Elrond shook his head.

'I know not what to believe… When the Dark Lord came to us as Annatar, he was fair to look upon, and somehow we foresaw it was not so. But now, I fear my mind is clouded and I might be misled by imaginings…'

'And yet you stand here…' Galadriel smiled.

'And yet I do…' Elrond sighed.

Galadriel shook her head.

'I doubt many have the power to mislead you, Elrond of Imladris, and though my support is based on intuition alone, it feels to me, you need not fear your dreams.'

Elrond grinned and offered his arm, which Galadriel readily accepted.

'I recall your intuition to be more accurate than most facts, Lady of the Galadrim.'

Galadriel smiled weakly, but stayed silent, suddenly deep in thought. Her voice was questioning, the first time Elrond had ever heard it in such a tone.

'Did you see it coming?'

He had been expecting the question for many centuries, but no one ever enquired after it. Perhaps Glorfindel of all came nearest, but the moment of asking had passed, and it never came again.

'I dreamt of it once, before it happened,' Elrond said, distantly. 'Even before Arwen was born…' He looked at the Elf next to him, more than ever recognising some of his wife's features in her mother. 'Did you?'

Galadriel was silent for a long while. Though Elrond considered he might not wish to know the answer, he waited for it. When Galadriel spoke, her voice startled him.

'I saw it, a long time ago, when you came to Edhellond… I did not think it was a foresight, rather something that had come unbidden… You know that visions are perilous guides to actions…'

Elrond nodded slightly as Galadriel continued.

'…which I believe is the reason you have never looked into the Mirror.'

He shook his head.

'I have no need for that which would increase my qualms. And over the years, I have learned, if it reveals something reliant on my attention, I will gain knowledge of it through you.' He glanced at Galadriel. 'I will not stay long.'

_Such a statement can denote many different things, can it not, meldir? _she smiled.

Elrond laughed earnestly.

'Many things, my Lady. But now, it merely suggests I shall leave Lórien in the morning.'

~~*~~

Estel sat on the floor of the library, following the intricate leaves which decorated the tiles of the stone floor right through into Elrond's study. The beautifully carved design was perfect for tracing with small fingers. With the unwavering concentration small children can have at times, the boy was softly singing, a lullaby his mother often sung.

Not far away sat Elrond, his hand to his chin. He was supposed to be working, but he could not take his eyes of the small child. Estel's current occupation reminded him of Elladan and Elrohir, who had done the same when younger.

Much as Valandil once had, the Lord of Imladris reminisced with a smile, Estel was growing faster than his own children had at his age. But the resemblance to them, was nevertheless stunning. The exact same eyes, hair colour, and facial expressions. If not examined too intently, the son of Arathorn could easily, Elrond mused, pass for one of his own children.

As far as Estel was concerned, he was.

Neither Elrond nor Gilraen had dared to keep the boy from calling the Elf-lord, 'Ada', like he most likely had heard Elladan and Elrohir do.

But somewhere, deep down, while knowing it was not wise to allow such a thing, Elrond took heart in it, remembering those blissful years when he was a young father.

He could not help but call that image to mind as, years later, a ten-year-old Estel stood in his study.

'What did they speak of, Adar?'

Elrond smiled and extended his arm to the boy, who took some quick steps nearer.

'They spoke of trolls, Estel, trolls and treasure… But more interestingly, there were moon-letters.'

Estel watched the book Elrond had lying in front of him.

'What are moon-letters?'

'Runes you can only read when the moon shines behind them, and the ones on their map were of an even more crafty variety. Those that can only be read by a moon of the same shape, in the same season as on the day they were created.'

Estel nodded. Then he looked up at Elrond.

'Can you tell me about trolls?'

With a grin, Elrond lifted him onto the table.

'A story about trolls?'

Estel nodded forcefully, and Elrond pursed his lips. For a moment, Estel was afraid his foster-father would not even consider his request. But then he saw the glimmer in the grey eyes and Elrond sat back.

'Suddenly the red light shone out very bright through the tree-trunks not far ahead…'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

thelion: (Sindarin) one who remains firm in his purpose

Im taen an-le: (Sindarin) I long for thee

pen-bara: (Sindarin) eager one

I-Estel ned I-Edain?: (Sindarin) the Hope of the Dúnedain?

Annatar: literally: 'lord of gifts', the name under which Sauron came to the Elves in the early Second Age

The last sentence comes directly from the Hobbit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	18. Revelations

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

A/N: I have used many lines directly out of Appendix A, but had to bend some, as I was not content with them. I humbly ask for forgiveness.

_Thus Narsil came in due time to the hand of Valandil, Isildur's heir, in Imladris; but the blade was broken and its light was extinguished, and it was not forged anew. And Master Elrond foretold that this would not be done until the Ruling Ring should be found again and Sauron should return; but the hope of Elves and Men was that these things might never come to pass._  
**From the Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 18 Revelations**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Three pair of footsteps on their way up to the library, three tall young Lords, dark-haired, handsome and all of them able to trace their lineage to Eärendil, though two of them less far removed than the third.

And, deep in his heart, he loved them all as sons, Elrond mused, as he watched them ascend the stairs. He had been informed of their arrival a little while ago, and they did not seem too hurried to come into his presence.

'And what brings such loudness into Imladris, pray tell?' he called to them with a broad smile, only increasing their volume when they called their greetings up to him, quickening their pace.

'We were only travelling by, and we thought we would visit the Wise One who inhabits the Valley,' Elladan called, the first one to reach the top of the stairs where Elrond waited, embracing his father.

'And while doing so, ask him for some much-needed hospitality,' Elrohir chimed in.

'A bath and a meal, and we shall be gone,' Estel added.

'I should have known,' Elrond grinned as he welcomed the other two in the same manner as the first. 'Are you certain it is not just to set my mind at ease?'

Three voices rose almost as one.

'Not really…' Elladan replied, nimbly evading a playful sweep of the hand his father directed at him.

'Why would one say such a thing?' Elrohir queried innocently.

'There is no need, is there?' Estel joined.

Elrond shook his head, smiling, and motioned them inside.

'It is good to see the three of you… And a meal you shall have,' he nodded, calling for lunch to be made ready.

They had been gone for almost a year, no, Elrond corrected himself, it had been nearer to two years… Had it really been so long? He watched the young ones eat and speak at almost the same time. As his gaze rested on Estel, he established it had to be so. The last time he had seen the son of Arathorn, he had been a boy, ostensibly only comprised of elbows and knees, while now, a young man sat at his table, not easily discernable from either of his sons, while they were both many years his senior.

As he listened to their stories, which were told as if one person had been given three bodies to speak through, he could do nothing but smile at their enthusiasm.

'But where shall you go when you leave Imladris?' he asked them, and Elrohir narrowed his brow.

'Is it true the Úlairi have returned to Dol Guldur?'

Elrond nodded pensively. 'And that which took the Last Alliance over seven years to throw down is being rebuilt as we speak.'

'Then I assume you had rather we stay near, for errantry and such?'

Elrond smiled.

'You know I would rather have my sons with me, than trailing unknown paths in distant lands.'

Elladan sat back and folded his hands.

'We shall stay a while, if it pleases you.'

Elrond pursed his lips and sent a warning frown to his son.

'I suspect you would stay, even if it did not.'

'True,' Elrohir nodded, getting on his feet. 'And before you grow tired of us and throw us out, I am taking a long bath.'

'You said you were going to help me sort the maps we have collected…' Elladan called, his brother already halfway down the hall.

Elrond raised an eyebrow as he watched a second son leave and looked at Estel.

'I assume you wish to see your mother?'

Estel smiled and nodded.

'Glorfindel told me she would be waiting for me, after I had seen you.'

Elrond rose and made an acquiescing movement with his arm.

'I do not wish to keep you. But there is something of which we need to speak…'

Grey eyes met his, friendly, strangely familiar. It made the Lord of Imladris almost lose the sentence he was about to utter, but he was able to regain it just in time. 'It concerns an important matter.'

Estel nodded.

As they walked down, Elrond led him into a corridor Estel had never been before. The young man did not ask about it, he had learned early that patience, especially in Imladris, was a great virtue.

'You know of the line of Isildur?' Elrond asked, and Estel was surprised, since it had been Elrond himself who had taught him of that history.

'I know he shares a common ancestor with you and your House, since he descends from your brother Elros. I also know his line is dwindling, and that there is only one heir left, but none know where he is.'

'If I revealed to you, that the heir was raised in this house, would that surprise you?' Elrond scanned the boy's face for anything, but if he saw through it all, he was hiding it well.

'It would not, since the heirs of Isildur have been living at Imladris for many generations.'

He nodded in compliance.

'You have long known you are not my son, and perhaps you have long suspected Estel is not your true fathername…'

An enquiring look was cast into Elrond's direction.

'It was here, at Imladris, that that name was bestowed upon me, my Lord. That makes it a fathername of sorts.'

Elrond smiled.

'But you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, son of Arador, and of Gilraen Dírhael's daughter and through both lines can you claim your heritage to Isildur, he who cut the One Ring from Gorthaur's hand and claimed it. You are Isildur's heir.'

The young man's face was expressionless, and Elrond had to motion him into the next hallway, where he opened a door that had been closed for almost eighteen years.

In the shimmering light lay the heirlooms that rightfully belonged to the son of Arathorn, though, at the moment, it did not seem very likely the boy would take any of them, so perplexed he looked.

Elrond took up the small ring that lay upon the silken covering of the table.

'This is sometimes also called the band of Felagund, for with this Elven-ring Finrod pledged his aid to Barahir and his kin.' Elrond handed it to Aragorn. 'Here is the ring of Barahir, the token of our kinship from afar.'

As the son of the fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain took the property of his family, Elrond went on to the next item.

'These are the shards of Narsil.' He paused, recalling the place where the sword broke, and its light extinguished, though he was too stricken by grief at the time to notice it actually come to pass. He was still very much in that place as he continued. 'With these you may yet do great deeds; for I foretell that the span of your life shall be greater than the measure of Men, unless evil befalls you or you fail at the test.' 

Again his mind took him by surprise, taking him back to when Isildur failed a similar ordeal; when he himself failed, unable to persuade Isildur towards destroying the Ring, which was now lost. Yet even then, when he had been informed of the news of its loss, something had told him it would be found, he had felt it would be, so long ago already. 'But the test will be hard and long,' he added. _Was it not pride that led Isildur to keep the Ring, against their better council?_ He looked at the next piece, so familiar. 'The Sceptre of Annúminas I withhold, for you will have yet to earn it.'

Aragorn looked at it with large eyes, knowing most of the history behind all these objects, thought perhaps not yet realising their importance to him. Elrond smiled, beckoning Aragorn to come towards the last heirloom resting on the plateau.

'I saw Elendil wear this diamond, when he came to Imladris with Ereinion Gil-galad… It is said to represent the Star of Eärendil, which guided the ships of him and his sons, when they sailed to Númenor.'

'So it represents a Silmaril?' Aragorn asked, carefully taking it up.

Elrond smiled.

'I imagine it does.'

Aragorn looked up at him.

'Narsil… And yet, it seems pointless to keep the shards of a sword… Should it not be reforged?'

Elrond slowly shook his head.

'It is foretold that this shall not transpire until the Dark Lord rises again, when the One Ring is found. Let us hope this shall not come to pass.' Both were silent until Elrond smiled and motioned Aragorn outside.

'Now go and see your mother, she has missed you greatly, and I should not take up anymore of your time.'

Elrond watched Estel, now Aragorn, exit the hallway with large strides, and only then recalled the words he had just spoken, strangely lingering.

_Let us hope it shall not come to pass…_

_Then what are you still here for?_ he asked himself. _Why are you biding your time, waiting for something you do not wish to happen? And what if it never will? Would you stay forever?_ Shaking his head he retraced his way to the library.

How many times had he been this close to leaving, to go to the Grey Havens and simply sail? Once a month? Or every single day?

As he ascended the stairway, someone called to him, much as he had called to his sons before.

'Ada! Where were you?'

That voice… With a broad smile, he caught her as she ran towards him. She flung her arms around his neck, and though the embrace much resembled the ones he had given only a little while ago, it was different in many ways.

'I missed you, so much, Arwen,' he whispered, closing his eyes and holding her tightly.

'And I you. Grandfather is not nearly as much fun when angry as you are.'

Elrond withdrew a little and smiled down at his youngest child.

'Who has unanimously decided to make this a day to tease your father?'

Arwen smiled.

'Perhaps it is because you are such a grateful subject to it. I hear my brothers have arrived as well, Glorfindel told me. I assumed you would be here but found you gone, where did you go?'

Elrond released her and shook his head as she caught his arm.

'Simply some matter that needed taking care of. But tell me, you have not travelled here alone?'

Arwen looked at him and smiled, raising an eyebrow.

'Do you truly believe grandfather would let me? He came with me personally, and bid me tell you he would come and see you after helping Elladan. I believe it had something to do with maps.'

'Yes…' Elrond mused, resting his hand on that of his daughter. 'Tell me, how did you leave Lórien?'

'I left it as beautiful as ever, though grandmother worries over the reappearance of the shadow…'

Elrond nodded.

'We shall have time enough to speak of that… Now tell me how you are…'

With a peaceful feeling warming him, he listened to his daughter, suddenly so much wiser and mature, even more beautiful and fair, and he was pleased.

~~*~~

'There is something that worries you,' Glorfindel said, as he sat down across the table. Elrond narrowed his brow.

'Is there?'

Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully.

'Without a doubt there is.'

Elrond shook his head, pensively touching his lip.

'Seeing many things, reading many hearts has never seemed a blessing to me, mellon-iaur.'

'I thought it might be Celebrían…'

Elrond smiled and leant forward.

'Celebrían is well, and though with each passing day I look forward to joining her more, she is not whom I worry about, if indeed there is something that does worry me.'

Glorfindel frowned.

'Is this about Aragorn?'

Elrond observed the other Elf, careful not to let his face betray any emotion.

'What makes you ask?'

Shaking his head, Glorfindel looked at Elrond.

'He can pretend it cannot be perceived as much as he likes, and so can you. But neither of you fool me.'

Elrond smiled weakly.

'What is there to say?'

So much, Elrond reflected, and yet so little. He had noticed Aragorn, turning more and more silent, not long after Arwen told him of their meeting, in the most casual of ways. It had been her approach to telling her father not to worry, he suspected. It had accomplished the complete opposite of course.

'Shall I send for him?' Glorfindel asked, already rising. Elrond looked at him in surprise.

'You have a great deal of trust in my ability to speak now, without hostility.'

'Of all people, I trust _you_ to be able to understand his position. Owing to your ancestry, and to the fact you know what it is to wait for love, all the while being aware of one's responsibilities.'

Elrond studied Glorfindel's expression, before a weak smile began to play around his lips.

'It is a most un-Elvish custom to give advice, my friend. And yet you always seem to be the one to do so…'

Glorfindel smiled.

'I shall go and call Aragorn.'

Elrond was uncertain as to how to address the son of Arathorn concerning this matter, for fear of speaking something he did not wish to, hesitant of breaking something he held dear. Taking a deep breath, he met the other's eyes.

'Aragorn, there is a great doom that awaits you, and either you shall rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin.' Waiting a little to see how the words sank in, Elrond made sure of a gentle and gracious tone before he continued, for he knew the words themselves to be harsh. 'Many years of trial lie before you. You shall neither have wife, not bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it.'

The last sentence made the grey eyes grow large, cheeks red.

'Can it be that my mother has spoken of this?'

Elrond shook his head, realising he had indeed perceived it rightly.

'No indeed, your own eyes have betrayed you.' He watched Aragorn avert his gaze, and he spoke softly upon continuing. 'But I do not speak of my daughter alone. You shall be betrothed to no man's child as yet. But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien, Evenstar of her people, she is of lineage far greater than yours, and she has lived in the world already so long that to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her. But even if it were not so, and her heart turned towards you, I should still be grieved because of the doom that is laid on us.'

With those words, actually speaking them out loud, Elrond drifted off. The last with whom he had discussed the subject had been Celebrían; first when expecting the twins, and many times, after their birth, while watching them sleep. But Arwen… Daughters are different… Was it Celeborn who had said it to him? All had been discussed long before she was born. To be truthful, neither he nor Celebrían had wished to go into a detailed discussion over what would happen if one of their children would fall in love with a mortal.

But from what he had understood from Arwen, she had not given away her heart. As yet, this appeared a one-sided issue. Aragorn's voice forced him back from thought.

'What is that doom?'

Elrond sighed to himself, as he sat down.

'That so long as I abide here, she shall live with the youth of the Eldar, and when I depart, she shall go with me, if she so chooses.'

Aragorn bowed his head, chin resting on his chest.

'I see, that I have turned my eyes to a treasure no less dear than the treasure of Thingol that Beren once desired. Such is my fate.' For a moment, Elrond wondered how true the words rang, and why they stung him so. But at the same time he truly regretted the young man's situation, felt remorse for bringing up the subject. Glorfindel had been right; he understood the feeling well, too well… He wanted to speak, but Aragorn lifted his head.

'It seems to me, Master Elrond, that the years of your abiding run short at last, and the choice must soon be laid on your children, to part either with you, or with Middle-earth.'

Another perceptive statement, one of many Elrond had not considered in such a way. Ever since Celebrían left, he had looked forward to the moment when he would depart from Middle-earth and exchange it for Aman, the Blessed Realm, together with his children. In his eyes, it had always been a joyful occasion, a family again reunited…

The way his foster-son now spoke of it relayed the sadness he had been unwilling to consider himself. He would be leaving the shores where he had been born, where he had lived so many years. He would depart from the home where he had loved, where his children had been born, where they had been raised in such happiness. And he would be leaving people behind, some dear to him, dear to his children… Suddenly, as if he had needed to be told, it became very pressing.

'This is true… Yet it shall take many years of Men, though to us it will seem only a little while. But there will be no choice before Arwen, my beloved, unless you Aragorn Arathorn's son, come between us and bring one of us, you or me, to a bitter parting beyond the end of the world. You do not know yet what you desire of me.' 

_Indeed you have no idea…_

Grey eyes met grey once more, and Elrond was aware he was raising his defences against someone he loved as dearly as his own sons. He clearly discerned the apprehension in Aragorn's eyes, but could not bring himself to reassure his foster-son.

The Lord of Imladris had not intended, had not wished to turn to anger, and even though the emotion had not leaked audibly into his words, his own discovery of the mood was worse enough. Finally he sighed.

'The years will bring what they will. We speak no more of this until many have passed. The days darken, and much evil is to come.'

Elrond rose, and looked at Aragorn, who looked slightly uncertain.

'But this will always be your home… Never doubt that.'

Aragorn seemed a little less anxious when he returned Elrond's look.

'I shall take my leave of you fondly, Master Elrond. And I shall endeavour to become worthy of your daughter's heart, and of your pride.'

Elrond nodded and smiled, as much a smile as he could muster.

'Deri-band, Estel ned I-Edain.'

Then he turned and made his way to the window, not because he wished to appear detached, but simply to hide the emotion that had so suddenly surfaced. He listened to nearly Elvish footsteps leave, and before long, he discerned the silence of another entering.

'I would presume it went well…'

Elrond, standing by the window, his back still turned towards the rest of the room, watched Aragorn sprint through the garden below.

'I am not sure if you would be correct. Though at least I have not driven him away as much as I feared I would.'

Glorfindel smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Elrond's shoulder.

'I think you did well.'

'But did I?' Elrond pensively returned, still staring down, though no one could be seen there now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

mellon-iaur: (Sindarin) old friend

Deri-band, Estel ned I-Edain: (Sindarin) Stay safe, Hope of the Dúnedain

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	19. A Shadow Between Us...

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_When Elrond learned the choice of his daughter, he was silent, though his heart was grieved and found the doom long feared none the easier to endure._  
**From Appendix A of Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 19 A Shadow Between Us…**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Glorfindel, returning from some errantry to Mithlond, found Erestor waiting for him at the stables, as he handed his horse to an attendant.

'What is the matter, Erestor? The last time I saw you at the stables was at least a century ago. I would not believe you to be so anxious for my return.'

Erestor did look particularly concerned, which was a strange thing, because usually there was little that troubled the Elf-lord enough to show.

'There was word from Lórien, from the Lady Arwen, and Master Elrond has not spoken since it arrived three days ago. He eats, he curtly answers if absolutely necessary, but nothing more. Even Elladan and Elrohir worry about it… He refuses to speak of it to them, claiming it is of no importance.'

Glorfindel began walking towards the main entrance of the Last Homely House, Erestor beside him, taking off his riding gloves.

'You know not what message he received?'

Erestor raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

'I can only guess, and it would not be a very educated one at that.'

'I shall go and see him presently, Erestor.'

The other Elf nodded and bowed off, back to his own work, as Glorfindel made way for the steps of the library.

In the hallway, just outside the entrance, he found Elladan, sitting on one of the heavy carved benches where usually envoys and couriers waited for admittance into the Lord of Imladris's study. Head bent, he was writing, very much resembling his father, and perceptive grey eyes met Glorfindel's when he discerned footsteps with even more perceptive ears.

Glorfindel looked down at him, and Elladan closed the folder, putting it aside.

'How is he?'

Elladan shrugged.

'He speaks little, eats little, rests little, works too much.'

Glorfindel smiled.

'Is that out of the ordinary?'

Elladan shook his head with a glimmer of a smile playing around his lips.

'Jest all you like, Glorfindel, but I fear my sister has sent him news she could have better brought him personally.' Elladan's eyes were as piercing as his father's were, and Glorfindel was momentarily taken by the resemblance, though he had seen it many times before.

'Has he not spoken of it at all?' he finally asked, aware Elladan might be very near the truth. The younger Elf-lord shook his head.

'Nothing, he is silent, while his eyes speak volumes.'

'You have attempted to discuss it with him?'

Elladan shrugged.

'Elrohir tried to, but they had an argument, and now _neither_ wishes to speak of _that_.'

Looking around, realising how strange it was seeing one of the twins without the other, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

'Where _is_ Elrohir?'

Elladan shook his head and gazed over his shoulder, down into the garden.

'He is somewhere around here… But he hides.'

'From your father?'

Elladan's gaze blankly rested on the wall in front of him.

'From everything…'

Elrond sat on the balcony overlooking the valley, head resting back against the wall, eyes vacant. Glorfindel rested a hand on his shoulder and ashen eyes shot up.

'Go away.' Elrond shrugged off the hand and rose to his feet, pulling at his robes, moving to the railing on which he rested his hands. Glorfindel took a deep breath, uncertain on how to continue, but convinced that he had to.

'I shall not.'

Elrond sighed deeply.

'I should have expected you would not.'

'Do you wish to speak of it?'

The Lord of Imladris turned, his voice pitched low, the normal kindness inherent to it disturbingly gone, so drained, so very weary…

'What does it look like, Glorfindel?'

Glorfindel grimly returned the look he was given.

'It looks like you are sulking, and at the same time driving your sons away.'

Shaking his head, Elrond turned his back again.

'Elrohir did the same as you do presently, in the end he left, and I advise you to do the same. I am not good company right now.'

'Arwen… This is about Aragorn and Arwen, isn't it?' the Elf-lord persisted.

Elrond abruptly left the balcony, brushing past Glorfindel, who waited for him to move past, before following.

'Elrond, this is ridiculous.'

He watched the dark-haired half-Elf, last of the Eldar princes of old, slowly turn, voice too peaceful, almost constrained.

'Indeed, Glorfindel, it is, now leave me, for I do not wish for you to share in my foolishness.'

Trying to keep his composure, for he was disposed to go over and shake some sense into the other, Glorfindel tried to find words that would help him break through the barrier, the walls that had been constructed in his absence.

'This bitterness, do not let it consume you, meldir, please…'

No answer.

The downland she now stood to the side of was coveted by the last rays of the departing Anar, making the green grasses almost yellow or even a light red, emanating a warmth she could feel flowing through her, taking possession of her, lulling her into peacefulness.

The road which ran through it, as fickle as sometimes rivers can be, was as empty as ever, no riders today, like there had been none for the past… she was uncertain for how long exactly.

Celebrían left the slopes, and turned towards the forest garden lying in the Lórien of southern Valinor, the Dreamland, which she now called home.

_Yet home is where the heart is, and my heart still resides in Middle-earth…_ she mused, placing her hand on the bark of a tree in passing, plaintively listening to the final chattering of birds that housed in the trees above.

Still, she smiled, for the deep coolness of the forest reminded her of her own Lothlórien, though the niphredil only grew here in its white form, not the pale green variety that had grown on Cerin Amroth, where she had walked as a maiden, and as a woman, a wife.

But why should she not smile? The times that she was aware of the time passing, as she was now, were few.

Celebrían's contemplation made her unaware of the arrival of a figure in grey. Not a sound coming from her movements, the surroundings seemed more a part of her than the other way around; a being not entirely of this world.

But she was not startled by the Vala, the Healer, the most gentle of them all, who had given her the healing sleep after arriving, and now rested a hand upon her arm. With a grateful smile the Elf-lady bowed her head.

Celebrían knew the figure had no real innate form, this present figure only created to speak with her, somehow deemed more comforting.

'You leave your abode in the midst of Lórellin, my Lady Estë?' she asked the wife of the Dream Master.

A smile, lighting up all around them, passed over the countenance of the angelic spirit.

'Tis not often that I feel one worrying in the Gardens, Celebrían.'

The Elf-lady looked upon her kindly.

'My worries shall soon be over, I expect. There is no need to share in them.'

'He shall soon come, to seek healing for his hurts and weariness, and to join his Lady,' Estë spoke reassuringly. 'But you stand closely to him, though far removed, and share his pain, now that he is growing jaded. Perhaps too much so…'

Celebrían shook her head.

'Sharing his pain is not a burden I am unwilling to undergo… It pains me more that I cannot comfort him.'

'Have you not tried?' There was something in Estë's voice that betrayed she was already very well aware of the answer. Celebrían gave a short nod.

'I have, but he is very stubborn…' She nodded almost imperceptibly. 'He has guarded his mind too closely.'

Estë gave a wonderful smile.

'Stubbornness is something most of his ancestors have as well… My husband's brother speaks most highly of it.'

Celebrían smiled in an amused understanding, but the gloom did not leave her entirely. Estë offered a hand.

'I shall help thee, only a little, and it might somewhat displease my husband, but I shall…'

Guided to the soft mossy floor of the forest Celebrían rested her head in the Vala's lap, feeling gentle fingers stroking her hair.

'Close your eyes, Princess of the Firstborn, and may your love and compassion bring you to him that needs it, if only for a little while.'

'Sssh…' came the whisper, fingers on his lips, when he so desperately wished to ask, to speak. 'We have only a moment, El-nîn.'

Elrond felt his heart skip at least a single beat, if not more. He caught her hand and removed it from his lips, but not before pressing them against it.

'But how can this be…?'

Celebrían smiled, her hand moving up to caress his face.

'Be still… It is a gift from the gentle Lady, now, do not squander it.'

Celebrían watched the understanding flow into his eyes, together with tears.

'She has left me, left us, Celebrían, made the choice without even…'

Pulling him against her shoulder, she kissed his ear and embraced him firmly.

'But she loves him, meleth-nîn … As I love you… And he is as devoted to her… Should that not be most important?'

'It should,' he whispered, 'but I cannot bring myself to it…'

'You must, Elrond,' Celebrían spoke, firmly catching his head between her hands. 'It is imperative… For if you do not, you shall be her ruin, and possibly cause your own along with it… Do not force her to make a choice between her father and the one she loves… For she will break either you, or herself, whatever she chooses. Love her as a daughter, but do not protect her as a child… Allow her to know the blessing of true love, even if only for a short time… Be the father you are… To all of them…'

'But I fear… Arwen, it will fall difficult on her, in the end…'

'She knows what lies ahead…'

Glorfindel observed Elrond, his shoulders rising, head bending. With quick steps he was next to him.

'Elrond, what is the matter? Are you alright?'

Eyes large, Elrond caught Glorfindel's arm, seeking support.

_Oh, Celebrían, I would that you stay a while longer…_

Her answer came, as if carried by the wind, and Elrond looked at Glorfindel, who did not seem to hear.

_Meet me in dreams, my love, open your mind and I shall come…_

Then it was gone, and he was utterly alone again. Shaking his head he locked gazes with Glorfindel.

'I think… I am, my friend, as well as I can be.'

Raising his shoulders in a querying fashion, Glorfindel still held Elrond's arm.

'What happened?'

Closing his eyes for a moment, Elrond weakly smiled.

'I… A gift from the gentle Lady Estë, spouse of Irmo…'

His eyes growing in amazement for a moment, Glorfindel tried to meet Elrond's gaze.

'What was it?'

Elrond, opening his eyes, strengthened his grip on Glorfindel's arm and pulled him along to the table, collapsing into a chair himself, guiding the Elf-lord onto the one next to it. For a short moment, Elrond closed his eyes again and buried his head in his hands. Glorfindel watched him, afraid even to place a reassuring hand on Elrond's shoulder.

'How is Elrohir?' he mumbled, moving his hands to the side of his head and into his hair.

'I'm not sure…' Glorfindel answered, folding his hands and sitting back. 'Elladan says he has been… hiding… What did you say to him?'

Elrond shook his head and groaned.

'Something along the lines of, how dare you, one who has only been in Middle-earth for so little time, speak in that manner to me, who has defended it many times before you were even sired…'

'You did not?'

'I did…' Elrond rested his elbows on his knees. 'Oh, Elbereth help me, I did…'

'Do you wish me to go and seek him?'

Elrond looked up, his ears and cheeks red.

'I will go myself…'

For a moment, Glorfindel did not think Elrond intended to go; was saying one thing and doing another. Then, rather abruptly, the Lord of Imladris rose and left the library.

Elladan watched his father, receiving a hand on the shoulder, a touch on the cheek, before he walked on. Descending the stairway, his eyes followed Elrond, uncertain of where he was going, but clearly discerning the difference in attitude. Glorfindel was undoing his cloak as he slowly left the library. Elladan smiled at him.

'Whatever you said, thank you.'

Glorfindel shook his head shortly.

'It was not I, I assure you…'

Elladan narrowed his brow.

'Then what happened?'

'He said it was the Lady Estë…' Glorfindel spoke thoughtfully, and Elladan could only stare at him, before silently turning back to the direction in which his father had disappeared.

Elrohir had spent the morning in the stables, but once he had noticed the other Elves working there had begun to irritate him, quite without intending to, he had left, deciding on a walk by the river.

But there, he had been reminded too much of his mother, and he had instead entered the forest along the riverbed of the South Bruinen. This reminded him of his mother as well, but here the memories were of his youth, and he had less trouble dealing with those, their happiness all-apparent… With a smile he recalled Elladan's countless tumbles into the river… His own tumbling out of trees… A vivid recollection of breaking an arm, and his father coming running, as if from nowhere, picking him up and examining the injury, shushing him, carrying him back to the house.

He wanted to be that Elfchild once more, he wanted to be able to talk to his father, without the painful memories of his mother lingering somewhere just out of sight.

They, as a family, had all changed, and understandably so… But he felt strongly about seeing his mother again, and he knew his father did too… And now, this news coming from Arwen…

Elrohir could no longer pretend he did not know what this was about. He had spoken with Estel, no, Aragorn, when they had met him on the road. He had not given it much thought, as they had been in a hurry to return to Imladris, but perhaps it was strange for Aragorn to ask about their sister. And yet, it could have been mere courtesy.

Apparently, Aragorn too, had been on his way to Imladris, but somehow, he had been admitted into Lórien instead. Arwen had been in Lórien…

He should have seen it coming… His father should have seen it coming…

And this was all happening because neither of them had been observant enough…

But his father had been right. He should not have presumed to tell him…

'Elrohir…'

Turning around, he found the person he had just been worrying about, the ever impressive Lord of Imladris, and Elrohir shortly bowed his head.

'Adar…'

Elrond looked down at the mossy forest floor. Then he looked up at his youngest son.

'I came to tell you…'

Elrohir shook his head.

'I apologise, father, I should not have spoken to you in that fashion…'

Continuing his sentence, Elrond locked his eyes with Elrohir's.

'…The fault lies with me,' he said, giving a short shake with his head, as Elrohir bent his.

'But you were right, father, I am not in a position to…'

'Of all people, you should be, you and your brother…' Elrond interrupted, and Elrohir raised his head to meet his father's gaze, listening to him continue. 'For too long have I been the Lord of Imladris, the son of Eärendil, and for too little time have I actually been father to Elladan and to Elrohir and to Arwen… I know most of what goes on in Middle-earth, but precious little of what passes through the minds and hearts of my children.'

Elrohir was silent.

'And sometimes I forget they hurt too…' Elrond said softly, placing a hand on Elrohir's shoulder.

'What do you suppose will happen?' his son asked softly.

Elrond did not speak, his hand still on Elrohir's shoulder, his eyes far away.

'Hope will weaken, though nothing I foresee is unambiguous… But their joining might restore the kingship of Men…'

'You will allow them to be wed.'

Very slowly, still deep in thought, Elrond shook his head.

'I love them both dearly, but Aragorn knows I would not have her take him to husband as he is now… My daughter shall not diminish her life's grace for no cause…'

'Love is no cause?' Elrohir said, more to himself than as a reproving remark towards his father. Elrond smiled weakly.

What was he to reply? Love, he knew, could be the greatest cause of all, but if Aragorn failed, what would love matter? It would leave his daughter a widow, Middle-earth in the clutches of the shadow… There was no way of winning, for him, Elrond, father of Arwen.

If Aragorn succeeded, he would loose what was most dear to him in Middle-earth. In case of failure, he would lose a man as close to him as a son, see his daughter's heart broken, Middle-earth lost.

A shadow would indeed come between all of them.

'Do you suppose Aragorn will come to Imladris?' Elrohir asked, and Elrond looked at him, as tall as he himself.

'I expect him soon.'

~~*~~

Arwen Undómiel had not hurried after she had crossed the River Bruinen, as she often had done before. Somehow, she did not look forward to meeting her father at present. She had not seen him for many years, had not heard from him except for casual messages brought to Lórien, conveying his love, but nothing more. But she had sent for now, as the Mountains and all that lay eastward were becoming perilous. Her grandfather, ever in agreement, had personally accompanied her to the edge of the Mountains, there giving her into the care of her brothers. Their behaviour had been cheerful outwardly, but their solemnity stayed close to the surface.

As she dismounted, her father's hand was there, and she accepted it, not certain if she should be acting one way of the other, whether he was angry with her or not. His expression did not seem to indicate it.

'Welcome back, my little one,' he whispered as they embraced, and Arwen took Elrond's arm with almost a sigh of relief. She smiled at some of the many Elves of the Last Homely House that had come to greet her upon her arrival, but her mind was with her father.

_So we speak not of it?_

Elrond looked at her sideways, and smiled.

_Perhaps later, Undómiel, but no, we speak not of it now…_

Arwen softly squeezed his arm and weakly returned his smile.

'Have you heard from him?' she asked, trying to make it sound offhandedly.

Elrond shook his head.

'From what I have heard he was nearer to Lórien than to Imladris. He has befriended Mithrandir, and they were travelling towards Mirkwood, last I heard.'

Arwen's face betrayed a little concern.

'But you _have_ spoken with him, since we…?'

The Lord of Imladris nodded, resting his hand on his daughter's arm.

'I have.'

Arwen nodded and bowed her head, her cheeks flushing with relief. Elrond smiled and bent towards her to kiss her head.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Mithlond: the Grey Havens

meldir: friend (masculine)

Anar: the sun

niphredil: a small slender-stemmed flower growing in Neldoreth (Beleriand) and Lothlórien, although in different forms: Lothlórien also had a green variant, where Neldoreth only had a white.

Lórien: the abode of Irmo (Lórien) in the south-western part of Valinor, often called the Gardens of Lórien.

the Dream Master: Irmo (also the 'Master of Desire'), one of the Lords of the Valar, one of the Fëanturi, brother of Mandos and Nienna, husband to Estë

El-nîn: my star

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	20. The Sweet and the Bitter

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_None saw her last meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world._  
**Lord of the Rings, Return of the King, by JRR Tolkien**

_Then Elrond prepared at last to depart from Middle-earth, and follow Celebrían._  
**'The Peoples of Middle-earth', the History of Middle-earth, volume 12, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien (The Tale of Years of the Third Age)**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

**Chapter 20 The Sweet and the Bitter**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

He recalled lifting her high up into the air, a little girl, so small, trusting him beyond all else.

Her chuckling voice telling him. 'Im mîl le, Ada.'

And his own, returning.

'I love you too, my little one…'

Her small hands on his face, following the lines, as he pretended not to notice, always so curious, always so consoling.

Not so anymore… Not his little girl any longer…

Elrond Peredhil, more then ever father of Arwen Undómiel, contemplated the non-appearance of the stars as he listened to the merry voices of the Elves of Lórien below, celebrating his daughter's forthcoming nuptials.

He vowed not to be too gloomy, this evening, the last they were to spend in Lórien together.

He wondered how he knew that with such certainty…

It was Celeborn that placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, and Elrond nodded, as if he understood the silent sign of sympathy. _Father are fathers…_ he considered.

'Were you ever so sad, when Celebrían chose to marry me?' he asked, taking a deep breath, and letting it escape in a long sigh. Celeborn smiled.

'Where you needed more then a millennium, Aragorn only took a mere three decennia to voice his feelings. And we go back such a long time, mellon-iaur… I had many years to get used to the idea… And Celebrían did not sacrifice her immortality… Your situation is unlike mine was, though I understand some parts of it…'

Elrond clasped the railing before him, though it was more an action to help steady himself, than of anything else.

'I am not angry with him anymore, Celeborn… I do not think I ever truly have been angry with either of them… Disappointed, maybe, but no, not angry…' Biting his lip, the Lord of Imladris did not seem very sure of the words he had just uttered. 'But I fear for her… I fear for the day when she wakes, and it will come, Celeborn, as sure as Anar rises and sets, it will, and then she will realise he is no longer with her… And she will want me there, and I shall not be…'

Bowing his head, chin on chest, Elrond seemed to experience his daughters feelings of that day already.

Celeborn cleared his throat a little.

'I recall feeling a certain anger towards you, when I discovered Celebrían had been summoned to Imladris, just before you and Gil-galad and the others were to depart for Mordor… A very ominous emotion, because, on the one hand, I suspected you would betroth yourselves, which in case of your death would surely break her… And on the other, I wanted the both of you to speak your love, to know it without reservation… Celebrían never told me what happened then, but whatever choice was made that day, it was made by two people, and they both knew very well what went on… And just as you did then, Arwen knows her fate now.'

A weak smile appeared on Elrond's lips, and he swallowed away some tears.

'Celebrían's coming before we left made me withstand all the hardships of those years that followed… And when she came to me again, when I so stubbornly refused to come to her, she saved me from years of loneliness that would have surely broken me in the end. I am someone else without her, Celeborn.'

'She strengthened you, much as Aragorn has been strengthened by Arwen's trust in him… Tis a powerful thing, love.'

There was a long moment of silence, and both the Elves listened to the voices below. Elrond's voice was soft.

'Is she so very much like her mother? For I feel I cannot tell…'

A proud grandfather smiled.

'Arwen has the impetuousness Celebrían had at times in her youth, but she uses it wisely… Still, of all your children, she is the one most like you… Perhaps that is why this pains you so, you know her heart too well.'

The voice that replied was a whisper, emotion painfully embedded within.

'Somehow I feel I am abandoning her…'

Celeborn firmly shook his head.

'She chose this, Elrond, with all her heart and soul… And though she will miss you every day of her existence here, the knowledge that you and Celebrían are reunited will bring her much joy. She understands how much the separation has pained you. And I am of the opinion that, for once, you should act for your own good, instead of someone else's.'

The Lord of Lórien watched his son in law, as much the son he never had, shake his head shortly.

'I shall never see my grandchildren… And while this pains me, the realisation that I shall not be able to watch their eyes and see whether they have Celebrían's blue or my own grey; some part of me rejoices in it, for I shall be spared the pain accompanying their death…'

Again there was silence. Celeborn was unsure as to whether there was a sufficient reply he could give. He finally decided there was not.

'Do you know if Elladan and Elrohir intend to accompany you into the West?' he asked instead, and watched Elrond give a short shake of the head.

'I do not.'

'I intend to stay… For a while longer.'

Turning towards him, Elrond looked at him for a long time. Celeborn nodded thoughtfully. 'Galadriel knows of it.'

Without speaking a word, or showing any kind of emotion, Elrond returned to his earlier position. He seemed detached when he finally did speak.

'I have come to realise that, during my entire existence here within the bounds of Middle-earth, I have participated in some sort of ever-continuing contest, and now find I do not know with what reason I did so, or where the end lies…'

'So finally it affects you too?' Celeborn enquired earnestly.

Elrond faintly smiled.

'It has been growing ever since Celebrían left… There have been moments, joyful ones, that have etched themselves into my mind, and to those moments I previously reached back, when it all became too much. But of late, those moments are being clouded over by less... carefree ones.'

Celeborn watched Elrond stare up to the night-sky, but it was too clouded to see that which might have brought him at least a little comfort. He felt a hand on his back, and found his granddaughter, her eyes on her father. Silently he retreated.

Arwen had never feared her father. They had been so close, always, that even the mere thought of fear seemed ridiculous to her. More recently, she had begun to fear his reactions. Perhaps it was exactly because he had spoken little of his qualms to her, had never truly told her what he thought of it all.

If she had not stood here, listening to his words, words meant for her grandfather, she might have never comprehended.

_Somehow I feel I am abandoning her…_

With a careful movement, as not to startle him too abruptly out of his pondering, she rested a hand on his arm.

'Ada…'

She heard him breathe in deeply, but he did not turn as quickly as she knew he could have. Somehow this saddened her.

'Undómiel…'

He saw it in her eyes, and understood at once. Without saying a word he pulled her into his arms, kissing her brow, and Arwen answered his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder.

'Are you not celebrating, my Evenstar?'

'I am not… For I wondered why my father's voice was not among those hallowing my future happiness.'

She smiled at him, in the way he needed her to smile, and he returned it earnestly.

'Forgive me… I shall in a while, I promise.'

Arwen buried her face in the folds of his robes.

'Thank you…'

Resting his head on hers, Elrond managed a smile.

'Do not thank me, there is no need.'

Neither of them spoke much for the remnant of the evening, even though they stayed together upon the flet well into the night. It was an hour before dawn that they separated to change into their travel garments.

~~*~~

As he watched his daughter, her radiance, the look in her eyes as she gazed upon the Man she loved, now her husband, Elrond felt more alone then ever before.

How she had asked him about Elvish marriage blessings when she was small, blessings so similar to those that had been spoken not long ago.

Yesterday, upon the eve of Midsummer, the sky had been as blue as the Ring he wore on a chain around his neck, somehow still not comfortable with it on his finger. Early stars of the East had bore witness to their arrival. He had marvelled much about the particular goldenness of the Western sky, and with a smile had thought of Celebrían. Perhaps that had been the point.

And he had surrendered the Sceptre of Annúminas, he had taken Arwen's hand, and he had placed it into Aragorn's. It had been the hardest thing in his life. And yet, the easiest as well.

The High City of Minas Tirith was fair, and though it was much different from when he had last visited it, many centuries ago, when it had still been Minas Anor, there was an asset of it that had not changed, that never would. The steel and mithril gates had been wrought in the same fashion as they had been on Númenor, the marble streets as white as they had been on that great island in the western waters of Belegaer, the laughter of its people the same…

Looking at Aragorn, King Elessar, tall as the sea-kings of old, Elrond could not help remembering Isildur, and through him, Elros. He indeed resembled his ancestor much.

Estel had changed, the Lord of Imladris mused. Both experience and wisdom could be easily distinguished from his face now, with strength and healing in his hands, and a brightness everywhere about him.

Glorfindel silently joined his side, and Elrond was glad for his company.

'It has come to fulfilment.'

'It has indeed, mellon-iaur, it has indeed…'

'Are you well?'

Elrond smiled, looking at his daughter, their eyes meeting fleetingly, but long enough for her to tell him, _All is well, I am joyful… Now it is you who must go and be content also._

~~*~~

Watching her say goodbye to first her grandparents, then her brothers, Elrond was jealous of all of them.

They could stand there and speak those words, could merely smile at her and take their leave. How was he supposed to do that?

Finally Arwen turned towards him. Their eyes met, and she looked down.

'Ada… I…'

Elrond shook his head and took her hand.

'Come…'

Folding her arm underneath his, as he used to do with Celebrían he stared into the distance as they walked.

They spoke not, until they halted on the top of the second hill. Arwen looked at him, and he thought he could hear something in her tone that was somewhat defensive.

'I shall miss you, Ada, but I do not regret making this choice… Even if I am given only a fraction of what you and Naneth had, what you _have_, I shall be more than content.'

Without speaking a word, Elrond pulled Arwen close and embraced her, not listening to the words she spoke, only her heart beating fast against his own.

What he felt was overwhelming, discouraging… And at the same time, he was glad… Finally, it was over. Done. He could go.

He wanted to say that he had heard her sing, on one of the first mornings following the days of rejoicing, that he had been sitting at the window, pondering, and that he had heard her, down in the courtyard, by the fountain, singing. Singing to her husband, her King. He wanted to tell her he had known she was happy at that moment, that he had known all was well.

But he could not.

'Sit with me awhile, Undómiel.'

'Are they not waiting for you, Ada?'

Elrond smiled.

'They will wait a while longer, I should think.'

As they sat down together, Arwen waited for her father to extend an arm to her before huddling closer, feeling both his arms being placed around her. A thumb stroking her face, she caught his other hand and entwined his fingers with her own.

'What will mother say?'

Elrond gave a short shake of the head.

'She knows already, Undómiel… She has known for a long time.'

Arwen withdrew a little and watched her father's face.

'So it is true… You do speak with her…'

A smile could be clearly distinguished on the Lord of Imladris's face, and his daughter could do nothing but join in. Sweeping a stray strand of hair out of her face, Elrond placed a kiss on her forehead.

'From what I understood, she is content that you love him and that he loves you.'

Relieved, the Queen of Gondor rested her head against her father's shoulder.

'Tell me of her… The time you first saw her.'

Slowly nodding, resting his head on his daughter's, Elrond complied.

'I was in my study, with your grandfather, when we were informed that the Ladies of the Wood had arrived. I thought nothing of it, at first, because I was too tied up in my studies and books… I had heard your grandfather speak of his daughter, but I had merely thought them tales of a proud father, nothing more… But when I first saw her, I was caught by her beauty, and by her ways, even though she had only recently reached her maturity…'

'Did she share it?' Arwen asked dreamily, knowing the answer full well; she had asked it every time he had told the story, often, like now, upon her request.

'Almost from the very beginning, she once told me…' Elrond smiled. 'And I was a fool not to ask her to be mine then and there…'

Arwen chuckled.

'She dragged me through the entire library in Lindon, showing me all those documents you had written in your years there… I was jealous of her, then, because I wanted to love as she did, to be loved as she was…'

'You do now… You are now…' Elrond whispered, and he felt the emotion well up in his daughter, causing him to pull her closer still.

'Do you know what Elladan and Elrohir are planning?' she asked him, after some silence.

He nodded thoughtfully.

'Your brothers are afraid of telling me, but I expect they will decide to stay a while longer… I have great trust that their delay will be allowed.'

'They are fearful of what you will say.' Arwen paused. 'When will you go to the Grey Havens?'

Elrond sighed deeply.

'I shall occupy myself with bringing all in order for my departure from Imladris… No longer than two years… Then I will head off. I ask you not to come and see me.' He spoke the last words hesitantly, squeezing her hand a little.

'I expect I shall be too busy…' Arwen answered, abiding by the request, even though the disappointment lay heavy on her heart.

After sitting silent for a long time, exchanging memories from long ago, their way a so much better one to transmit than that of words and speech, Elrond carefully released his daughter and rose, though not before he kissed the Queen's brow one last time.

Arwen rose too.

'You must leave now… I understand…'

Bringing his hand to her face he smiled.

'Cuio mae, iell… Deri-band, aen le-cuil manadhpant, a pathra ah mîl a hennas…'

_Even if it will only be a little while…_

Taking his hand and placing a kiss on his cheek, Arwen weakly returned the smile.

'Dortho mae, Adar, ed-penia a tegi mîl an naneth-nîn… Le a anim…'

Then she watched him turn, leaving her… And she shared in his tears, which, even though she could not distinguish them, she knew were there.

_Im mîl le, Ada…_

_A-im le, Undómiel… A-im le._

The Lord of Imladris allowed his tears to run freely until he had reached that hill between where he had left his daughter, and where his travelling companions would be waiting. He stumbled upon Glorfindel, who sat patiently waiting. With some quick movements he was able to rid himself of the evidence of his sorrowfulness and walked over to where the other Elf was seated.

'So… We go home?' was the question posed to him, as Glorfindel's eyes met his.

Elrond let a breath escape his lungs and nodded.

'Though Imladris ceased to be home a long time ago, I shall go home soon, Glorfindel. I shall…'

Joining his friend and Lord, Glorfindel placed his hands behind his back.

'And what say you of this day, Elrond?'

Elrond smiled.

'Burials are a strange thing to me, Glorfindel. I've seen many in my time and I find myself amazed by them every time… For I shall never have one, with the Lady's leave… Or is this not of which you speak?'

Glorfindel laughed, somewhat relieved.

'Not what I meant, perhaps, but you answer my query well enough…'

Narrowing his eyes, Elrond looked back from where he had come, even though he knew he would not be able see his daughter.

'I know she is happy. I know all is well. And though it saddens me still and will always, I can now go… She sings to him now. And it is so…' Elrond turned and together they walked back, as Glorfindel listened and he spoke. Words that perhaps did not make as much sense as the ones the Lord of Imladris usually uttered, because feelings are difficult to verbalise, even for those who have been blessed with the gift of eloquence.

~~*~~

Riding gloves in hand, he stood pondering in the middle of his quarters, not certain what to do next.

He had packed his most treasured belongings already, personal items; a wooden carving of a horse and rider Elrohir had made him when younger, the account Elladan wrote concerning his first week away from Imladris, a pendant Arwen had designed and helped make for him when little… And many more such things; of trivial worth on first sight, but valuable to him, so very precious. But they were already in the saddlebags of his horse, and there was no need to worry about them.

He made his last round through the house, placed a hand on the top of his writing desk, let his fingers slip over the covers of some books in the library. He even silently remained in the doorway of his bedroom for a short time. Many happy memories here, but also some of which he was less fond. From there he made for the balcony, but decided this was not the place from where he wanted his last look of the valley.

With quick strides he climbed the many steps to the highest terrace, and with a sigh he watched the vale spread out before him. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the tents and fires below, even, far away, Gil-galad's voice… Then Celebrían's touch, her lips on his skin, the smell of her hair…

_Indeed many ghosts linger here, on this terrace,_ he contemplated. _And soon, I too, shall be one of those…_

As he descended the stairs, all the way down into the garden he could already see the others, waiting for him to join them. With a firm catching of arms he took his leave of Erestor and Glorfindel, his eyes asking what he had asked the both of them before.

_Take care… Of both them and yourselves._

Together the Elves nodded in silent understanding.

With a touch to Elrohir's cheek he firmly embraced his son, and then moved to Elladan, who slapped him on the back with a broad smile.

'You go now, father…'

Elrond gave him a suspicious, playful look as he rested a hand on his shoulder. But he said nothing as he looked to Celeborn.

'Keep an eye on them, will you?'

The Lord of Lórien, though he had made clear he would not stay in Lórien permanently, and would instead move to Imladris, gave him a broad smile.

'I hope, for my sake, that they will rather keep an eye on me.'

When they embraced, Celeborn whispered a message only meant for his daughter's husband.

'Tell her I will follow with her sons… Say to her I promise.'

Elrond nodded solemnly and walked over to his horse, the last to mount. Galadriel raised a hand and turned her horse, as Elrond did as well.

_I'm going now… _he said, more to himself than to anyone, anything else.. _For it is done… What was started has been finished… I can do no more…_

He watched the old Hobbit, seated on a small grey pony, riding along and recalled what he had said to Frodo upon their departure.

Even then, it had seemed as if the words had been spoken by one other than himself, as if they had not been real, could not be true, would never be.

But he was leaving now…

_For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him._

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Im mîl le, ada: I love you, father

mellon-iaur: old friend

Cuio mae, iell… Deri-band, aen le-cuil manadhpant, a pathra ah mîl a hennas…: Live well, daughter… Stay safe, may your life be blissful, and filled with love and wisdom…

Dortho mae, ada, ed-penia a tegi mîl an naneth-nîn… Le a anim…: Stay well, father, set out and bring love to my mother… Yours and mine…

A-im le: and I you

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **


	21. It seems our way to seek...

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

_And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven._  
**The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien**

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**Chapter 21 It seems our way to seek…**

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

'The Valar bid the Wise of Arda welcome…' The words echoed towards them in the large halls of stone, light falling in from above, the dome partially constructed of glass, the true craftsmanship of those in Aman apparent everywhere one looked.

His eyes were searching, but not to admire the impressive structure. Elrond Peredhil was searching for a person.

The Lady caught his gaze, and he thought he saw a glimpse of amusement flashing across her face, though it was difficult to judge due to her shining white aura.

'Master Elrond, I fear you shall not find the one for whom you search. Your Lady resides in the Gardens of Lórien as she has from the beginning. Though your arrival was not unexpected, she knows not of your coming as yet. She shall be informed after you have visited the Ring of Doom, tomorrow. If it is your wish, you can travel to her then.'

Elrond hid his disappointment, and, keeping his face emotionless, bowed.

'So it shall be, my Lady.'

Stepping back, he watched Galadriel being greeted by her kin, his kin too, in many ways, the crowd of Elves welcoming her within their midst, a long lost child.

He smiled. Very strange to consider she was a daughter too…

Then, suddenly, there was a face that attracted his attention. He had expected to find it, but was still taken unaware.

For a short moment, he thought he recognised his brother, but at once, his mind told him this could not be.

He was surprised, stunned. So the image _had_ been stored in his mind somewhere…

Recognising her own eyes, identical dark hair, the Elven Lady, too, seemed taken aback, as she neared him. Shaking her head, she was not able to find many words.

'I… Elrond…'

In her face he could distinguish his sons' features, well-known eyes, and grey met grey.

With a cautious gesture, she raised her hand and touched his face, looking at him for a long while. At first, her mind was closed to him, but very slowly the barriers between them were let down. There were memories, reminiscences he thought lost, which apparently had been stored somewhere within the boundaries of his mind after all. His first smile, first steps… His father…

Then she extended her arms to him, and, for the first time in over six and a half millennia, Elrond fled into his mother's arms, resting his head on her shoulder, feeling her hands pressing him against her, her heart as glad as his.

_I missed you, Naneth…_

_And I you, mell iôn-nîn…_

Upon withdrawing, she took his face in her hands, tears welling in her eyes.

'You… A mirror image of your father…'

Elrond smiled, curiously studying her face. Many times, especially after becoming a father himself, had he considered how strongly she must have felt about losing them, when Elros and he had been captured. Where they, being too young, had remembered little of her, she must have gone through many stages of despair knowing she would not be able to see them again until now… Was never to see Elros again…

'And how is my father?' he asked gently.

'He is well, now that his son has returned to him.' A voice, soft as his own, not as loud and low as he had often imagined it, sounded from behind, making Elrond turn, to find himself confronted with an Elf-man, a familiar radiance in his face.

Eärendil stood motionless, as Elrond returned his gaze. His attire was simple, but there was no mistake of his identity, the intricate embroidery of his device on his tunic, twelve beams of light radiating from a centred star, silver on blue.

Then he extended a hand, and Elrond caught it without hesitation, letting himself be pulled into a tight-locked embrace. He smelled a whisk of air and sea, and remembered his childhood, remembered small arms about his father's neck…

_Car-ú gwanno, Ada._

His father had smiled down on him.

_Im gerin-an, tithen-nîn, Im gwesta-an teli-ad…_

But he had never returned…

Shaking his head, Eärendil released him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'Let us walk a little, for it is eventful here, and we have only little time at present… I know you have many questions, for me, and for your mother…'

Leaving the dome, and the halls, Eärendil motioned his son towards a quiet stretch of garden, and Elrond walked quietly beside the two people, Elwing having caught her husband's arm.

His father looked at him intently.

'We know you must have blamed us for leaving you…'

Elwing shook her head.

'We wanted to return, Elrond, we wished to, but it was not allowed.'

Elrond found himself unable to speak, his voice locked inside his chest.

_When I was younger, I might have been angry with you, but no more… Not since I was a child…_

Both the Elves seemed amazed when he shared the words.

Elwing looked at him, tears in her eyes, and caught his arm.

_I have always feared you harboured strong feelings against me… Against us… And yet now, I wonder how I could have, for you are wise Master Elrond, of whom the tales speak so highly…_

'I have tales?' Elrond queried softly, with a disbelieving smile.

Eärendil nodded proudly.

'Though many are songs of love and admiration, and have originated in the gardens of Lórien…'

Elrond bowed his head, but only for a moment, before looking at his father again.

'Have you seen Celebrían?'

'Not in person…' Eärendil started, but Elwing cut in.

'I saw her, when she first arrived… But not afterwards… It is told she does not wish to leave the gardens before you have returned, and, also, that she is well acquainted with the Lady Estë.'

Elrond nodded.

'But do you know whether she is in good health?'

Eärendil narrowed his eyes.

'Perhaps we are not the right people to ask… Our lives are not as intertwined with the rest of Aman as others are… It would be better to speak with one of the High-princes, specifically…'

'Hush, herven… You can only stay a little while, and anyone can tell him of the High-princes… Pray tell, Elrond, how did you leave our grandchildren?'

With a weak smile, Elrond gave a nod.

'I left them well… I shall ask the Valar for a stay for Elladan and Elrohir until they deem it is their time to decide… And Arwen is joyful… She chose the path onto which her heart guided her.'

Eärendil smiled.

'I shall watch over them all, my son… But I must go now… As I said, we have little time now…' With a tender kiss on his wife's forehead, he took his leave of Elrond with a tight embrace.

Elwing caught Elrond's arm as they watched the once Lord of Arvenien leave their presence and the gardens.

His mother smiled.

'He would come home, after one of his long journeys beyond the confines of the world, and he would tell me of you and Elros… He told me what he saw happening to you…' She smiled comfortingly as Elrond bowed his head. 'It seems our way to seek those whom we love beyond all else, every so often using desperate measures, Elrond… Some we find, others we loose… And some return to us after many years.'

They were all around him, and yet they were not. He could hear their voices, but their bodies were almost shadows, not tangible, but seemingly very real. There were questions, but he did not need to answer, for there was already an answer before he could speak.

He had been awake early this morning, strangely nervous as he sat waiting in the window, his mother never far from his side. He had entered the Ring of Doom alone, and at first had seemed alone, until the voices had started.

It seemed a discussion, and Elrond did not understand why indeed his presence had been required. There seemed to be no need of him.

They spoke of Sirion, of the War of Wrath, of his time at Lindon, Eregion, Imladris, the Last Alliance, and then the many years after. There were questions about trivial choices he had made, long ago, enquiries into larger ones.

_Why did you follow Gil-galad? Is there a reason you could not convince Isildur of disposing of the Ring?_

He listened carefully, but at times he lost a thread of conversation, because all went fast, the tempo never wavering.

Not that he minded. The sooner this was over, the earlier he would be on his way. To the Gardens of Lórien.

Because there was no doubt in his mind he would be admitted… Surely they could not refuse him now? The Lady herself had said as much.

_You ask for a postponement in the Choice of your sons, Master Elrond?_

The voices fell silent at once, and Elrond raised his head, his eyes catching those of a somewhat solid form, which had somehow appeared out of nothingness, and who seemed to be intently watching him, waiting.

He nodded slowly.

'They ask for a delay through me, my Lord, for they wish to remain a while in Middle-earth yet.'

The form took some steps, paces that did not reverberate.

_Is this connected to the fate of their sister?_

Elrond nodded, he had had enough time to consider it.

'I suspect this to be so.'

_Do they realise that, were we to deny this request, they would have to remain?_

'They do, my Lord.'

The form dissolved and seemed to take its place among the others.

_The request is granted, may it be relayed to those whom it concerns._

Elrond wondered how this was to happen, but the voices began conferring again, and he assumed it was not his affair.

The Elfling, as he was affectionately called, for he was young of years and had only recently reached bodily maturity, stood restlessly waiting outside, walking to and fro, as the others observed him with amusement.

'Sit down, you will need your strength if you are to travel to Lórien swiftly.'

'I know…' he hurled the words in return, placing his hands behind his back, shrugging aside his travelling cloak. 'But I wish to see him, you understand?'

The messengers laughed amongst themselves. He was in many respects their senior, both in rank and experience, but his youngish appearance and his eager ways were the source of much hilarity.

'One should think you would have learned patience with the Lord Námo… And did your father not bid you go to Lórien immediately?'

The Elfling raised an eyebrow.

'How am I to relay this message to the Lady Celebrían if I have not seen her husband myself? Ascertained his well-being? She does not appreciate second-hand knowledge.'

'What will you say to him, I wonder?' someone asked, but the Elfling shrugged.

'I know not… I intend to decide upon reaching the moment.'

The short exchange had shook him out of watchfulness and when the doors opened behind him, the former Lord of Imladris was past him before he had even noticed. Not a glance, not anything as Master Elrond joined the Lady Elwing, whose eyes posed a question to the speechless young Elf-lord.

_Do you wish to speak with him?_

The Elfling slowly shook his head, and, without looking at the others, checked the fastenings of his cloak and turned, his quick Elvish footsteps not even slightly sounding on the marble floors.

Outside, an attendant handed him his horse, and he thoughtlessly patted the animal on the forehead, as he walked away with it by the reign.

'He does not remember me, Aeglos…' he whispered softly. 'But it is not very strange… He never knew me when I was younger… Though I do not think I am much different…'

Mounting effortlessly, he spurred the horse and rode off, to do the errantry he had originally been sent out to do.

He knew that if he rode swiftly, his delay might not even be noticed. He would be crossing into the northern part of Oromë's woods before tomorrow evening, and he would rest by nightfall. He would need the entire next day to clear the woods, but if he did not rest for the night, the Gardens would be reachable before dusk the next evening. _Three days_, he considered. _Just as long as my father calculated it would take._

Though a larger party would need at least six.

Celebrían looked up from the face of one of Estë's Ladies, as an attendant neared the group.

'Lady Celebrían? A messenger from Máhanaxar, one of the High Princes of Tirion.'

Celebrían smiled and rose, following the attendant and catching her arm.

'Which one, Aurehen?'

The maiden smiled.

'The one that always comes. The one that was last to return from the Halls up to now.'

With an amused beam Celebrían followed the path to the place where the Elf-lord would no doubt be waiting. It was strange to think of him like that, bodily only a mere shrub, even compared to her own children… And yet she had seen him so many times, millennia ago, wise and kingly, the years readable in his face.

It was still there, that knowledge. But there was a certain innocence present that had come with spending time in Mandos… Surely enough, there he stood, dark hair flowing down his back. With a smile she called to him.

'Ereinion! What news from Máhanaxar?'

He smiled broadly and gave a short bow of the head before letting himself be pulled into an affectionate embrace.

'Celebrían, I have good news…'

'News from Middle-earth?'

'In a way,' he smiled, offering his arm. 'News from Elrond…'

Releasing his arm almost at once, Celebrían stepped into his way and stopped him.

'Stop teasing and tell me… Is he coming to Aman soon?'

Ereinion smiled.

'He has already arrived… My father sent me to inform you… They are three days behind me, I would say.'

Celebrían's eyes became large, and her grip on his arm became firmer.

'You are not jesting with me, Ereinion Gil-galad? For I would never forgive you…'

'I would not dare,' he smiled.

Taking his arm again, Celebrían steered him into quieter surroundings.

'Have you seen him? Is he well?'

'I saw him, he is well,' he assured her, hiding his own qualms. Nevertheless Celebrían noticed it at once.

'Tell me, did you not speak with Elrond, or was there no time? You usually do not let Fingon's errands come in the way of your own designs… What did he say?'

She had had these conversations with him often, for it had to be strange for the son to have as many years and experience as the father. Ereinion had never showed any signs of wanting his own House, of wishing to distance himself of Fingon. And yet he stood beside his father in Aman, rather than behind him… Much as Fingolfin's House stood alongside Fingon's, only perhaps that of Finwë above them all.

Grey eyes were cast down for a moment, and there was a moment of silence.

'He did not recognise me, and I was too anxious to go to him…'

With a disbelieving shake of the head, Celebrían looked at him. This was where he had changed, where he was different from how she had known him. It was curious… Once, she had seen him as a fatherly figure, had watched him perform this part in Elrond's life. But now she felt more like a sister to him, a mother even, caring for him while her own children…

'Ereinion… Elladan and Elrohir?'

He looked at her blankly.

'I cannot be certain, but it was said in my father's House that there would be a motion for delay. But I know not if this is true. They were not among those that arrived by ship.'

With a deep sigh, both of disappointment and acceptance, Celebrían nodded.

'It was to be expected…' Then she smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder. 'But you shall stay and speak with him when he arrives…'

After a feigned defeatist movement he looked at her.

'Very well.'

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mell iôn-nîn: my beloved son

Car-ú gwanno, Ada: Do not depart, father.

Im gerin-an, tithen-nîn, Im gwesta-an teli-ad… : I have to, little one, I promise to return

the Ring of Doom: see Máhanaxar

the Lord Námo: the personal name of Mandos

Aeglos (Sindarin) snowthorn, plant, but also the spear of Gil-galad

Oromë: one of the Lords of the Valar, a great hunter, his wooded lands lie in southern Valinor

Estë: wife of Lórien, concerned with healing and rest and with the fountains and pools of the gardens of Lórien.

Máhanaxar: Place of council and judgement of the Valar, located near the gates of Valimar (also called the Ring of Doom)

Okay, lets talk Eärendil… Thankfully Mr Tolkien left that part vague… Since Venus (the star that corresponds with Eärendil) does not always appear, I'm guessing Eärendil was allowed a little holiday every once in a while ;)

Especially when his son arrives in Valinor… And I'm not locking Elwing in a tower… That's silly… :))

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	22. The Weight of Years....

**A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían**  
by Nemis

This is one is for Diane and Desi, my fellow Hugo-nuts (and faithful reviewers…)

A tiny bit of R at the end. 

_For when the Great Ring was unmade the Three Rings of the Elves failed also, and Elrond was weary of Middle-earth at last and departed seeking Celebrían, and returned never again._  
**'The Peoples of Middle-earth', the History of Middle-earth, volume 12, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien** (The Making of Appendix A)

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**Chapter 22 The Weight of Years…**

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The former Lady of Imladris was not yet able to truly fathom it; she had waited for this moment every single day of her time here, and now that it had arrived she could still not entirely grasp it.

Impatiently she sent away her maids, braiding a few strands of her hair personally, leaving the rest as it was, the silver waterfall she knew he loved so much.

Word had arrived earlier this morning, a messenger from the travelling party who had been sent ahead. They were near now, as Ereinion had said, not four hours removed. The High Prince himself was nowhere to be found.

Celebrían needed no cloak, as she pulled up her heavy dresses and made her way towards where a horse waited, almost running.

Slightly annoyed with herself for choosing a dress that was more aesthetically pleasing than practical, especially if one intended to ride a horse, she nevertheless mounted swiftly. _You act like a young maiden, Celebrían..._ she told herself. It could not be called a rebuke in any way, because it did not matter. Nothing could matter, ever again.

The main road to the Gardens of Lórien from Valmar was not used often; the few travellers that did use it, simply arrived and never went.

Still, Celebrían had ridden it many times, though not far; just to the top of the first hill, from where she could observe the stretch of flat land south of the Mountains and Mansions of Aulë, as far as her Elvish eyes could see.

She rode that familiar track quicker than usual, since all of a sudden, time did seem to matter in Valinor.

Feeling the wind on her face and through her hair, she felt excited. The sun was comfortably warm, blessing this Day of days. They had to be near, she _needed_ him to be here soon…

Upon arriving on the hilltop, the road was empty. Dismounting, leading the horse to the side of the road, she settled down in the grass, disappointed for now, anticipating nevertheless. Dazing a little, she lost track of time, as always seemed to happen here on Aman. When she finally looked up, she could indeed discern a procession on the road, though still far removed, their pace not hurried, but not slow either.

They were too far away, even for her, to be able to recognise anyone.

On her feet and mounting swiftly, Celebrían tried to gather a smile before spurring the mare to ride on. Her eyes searched as she, too slow for her liking, drew nearer to the group.

What if Ereinion had been mistaken, and Elrond had not travelled here yet? Perhaps he had decided to stay in Máhanaxar a little longer, to speak with his family or meet with the Council once more… It could very well be so…

The messenger had only spoken of the party as a whole, and not exactly who had been in it… Celebrían shook her head. She should have asked, instead of reacting so hastily.

But suddenly, it was as if a veil was lifted from before her eyes.

Together with her mother and Mithrandir, he rode at the front, many Elves riding behind them, some of whom she remembered from both Imladris and Lórien. There were others, but Celebrían did not know them, and her eyes were locked on one single figure in the company.

He wore grey, a silver star shining on his forehead, and Celebrían thought he now, more than ever, resembled his father. With an enthusiastic cry she came towards them, and even from a distance, she could see her husband's face light up.

Elrond had not expected Celebrían to ride towards them. When still at Imladris he had often advised her to be less impulsive… How glad he was she had not listened… Then again, she rarely had all those years ago, he smiled to himself.

As she neared the group, slowing down, Elrond extended his hand to her, stopping, waiting for her horse to come near enough and arrive beside his. Celebrían threw a quick beam towards her mother, but rode on to meet the only one who mattered now.

Catching Elrond's hand she smiled at him, before pressing a kiss into the palm.

'Mae govannen, herven.'

Elrond's face seemed to relay many different emotions at once, yet his smile was ever like the summer sun, bright and comfortable.

'Suilad, herves.'

Even though he deemed it unwise, he leaned towards her and placed his hand on her side, pulling her close enough for a more affectionate greeting. Apparently, it was not meant to be, for, at the same moment, both animals shifted beneath them, and they were forced to relinquish their hold on each other. As the rest of the company rode a little on, only a few of them waiting, Elrond effortlessly dismounted, extending his arms to catch his Lady as she followed his example. Celebrían listened to his deep laugh, the laughter she had missed, that was so special, as she threw her arms around his neck, feeling him answer with a strong embrace.

Most of the other travellers had stopped now, and it was Galadriel that called to them.

'Master Elrond, do you wish us to wait?' Amusement was very perceptible in her voice.

Elrond withdrew, his breath unsteady, his heart ready to leave his chest, his stomach fluttering. He shook his head and tore his eyes away from Celebrían, his silver queen, as beautiful and radiant as she had been when she had consented to wed him.

'Ride on, my friends,' he called, before turning to his wife again, raising his hand to her neck, adding, meant for her ears only, '…we shall follow… In a little while…'

Celebrían smiled as his hand guided her face, and he bent towards her, his lips finding hers without difficulty.

Catching the collar of his cloak she pulled him closer, embracing him again, burying her face against his shoulder, her arms around his waist. Time stood still once more in the Blessed Realm.

Home… He was home… She was home… They were together… Everything was as it should be again.

Finally withdrawing she grinned, almost unable to contain her happiness; tempted to dance around him, watch the few new lines in his face, make them a part of her mental image. Catching his hands she pulled him with her, turned a circle and watched more amusement flood into his face, his cheeks red.

With a content groan she released his hands only to fling her arms around his neck again, being happily received in his embrace once more.

'I missed you so much…'

Tenderly he stroked her hair.

'And I you, gwilwileth.'

Celebrían looked up at him.

'Have you seen your parents?'

Elrond smiled, trying to control his breathing.

'I have…' He, too, felt the urge to jump and run, a sensation he had last experienced when he was much, much younger. Catching her face, he kissed her again, passionately, surprised by her answer, her lips and tongue encouraging, exciting. His head felt light, and he drew her close, seeking support.

Then something darker emerged from within him. He released and looked at her, his eyes serious.

'Do you not wish to ask me…?'

Celebrían shook her head a little, closing her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder, and deeply inhaled the fragrance of his robes, filling her lungs with his scent.

'Not now, Elrond, not now…' Suddenly she was in tears, and she did not know, did not understand, why it stung her so, the bitter taste so profoundly mingled with that of pleasure… It was terrible, but she finally had him by her side again, and that realisation made it better, so much better…

'Your father bid me tell you he would be certain to follow with Elladan and Elrohir. He asked me to tell you he promised.'

Celebrían nodded, still holding him securely.

'If he said he promised, then it shall be so.'

'Your mother,' Elrond whispered, continuously stroking her hair, 'was so amused by me, almost running from the Council, urging everyone to go faster, to hurry…'

Celebrían looked up at him, having mastered most of her tears.

'Tell me how much you longed for me…'

With a laugh, he placed an arm around her waist and, close as she was, traced her face with his fingers, sweeping away the remaining tears.

'As if I was holding my breath, and you were my air… My warmth in cold, coolness in heat…' Softly he began kissing her neck, gently letting his fingers lead the way.

Celebrían in turn trailed her own fingers over his neck, reaching his hair, burying her hands within it.

'All is well, Elrond…' she whispered, her forehead against his shoulder, her arms around his neck.

Elrond's grip became firmer and pulled her very close, feeling the warmth of her body, savouring the physical contact. Celebrían kissed his ear.

'Come, and let me show you home, meleth-nîn.'

'Do we ride?' Elrond asked, but Celebrían shook her head.

'I shall not let you go for a long while yet…'

Holding out her hand, the reins already in the other, Celebrían watched Elrond catch his own horse, but instead of taking her hand, he placed his arm around her. With a tender movement she slipped her arm around his waist, resting her head against his chest for a moment.

Together they walked, sometimes speaking aloud, more often relaying the emotions without needing the words.

It was as it always had been, as if they had met after being apart for only a little while, not more than a season it seemed. But indeed many seasons had gone by…

Neither was certain how much time had passed until they arrived at the small settlement, where most had already refreshed themselves, ready for a meal and a feast of welcome.

After handing over their horses, Celebrían took Elrond's arm and led him inside, finding her rooms not entirely as she left them; apparently someone had ordered them to be made ready for Elrond's arrival. A bath was waiting, a last bucket of steaming water being emptied into it as they entered.

With smiles towards Celebrían, and short bows before Elrond, the maids left the room, closing the doors behind them.

Celebrían looked at her husband, who stood silently watching her. She raised an eyebrow.

'Do you need help with your clothing, husband?'

Elrond slowly shook his head, before nearing her and taking her in his arms.

'I would not mind helping you with yours…'

He listened to her laugh, as she gently pushed him away.

'No, the others are already waiting… Please Elrond…' Celebrían gave him a pleading look and with a smile Elrond began to undress, as she herself disappeared in some adjoining rooms.

Languidly lying in the water, eyes closed, the touch of her hands on his shoulders startled him shortly, before they began trailing his chest, and were followed by warm lips on his shoulder blade. Sitting up, he turned towards her and claimed her lips with his own.

Celebrían sat down on the side of the bath, as Elrond sat back again. Watching her face, he could hardly remember how it had looked when she had left… This was his Celebrían, the Elf-lady he had married… There were no physical signs of that last year, her last in Middle-earth. But then again, it had not been the physical scars that had made her leave…

'This is such a strange situation, you know…' she said, lovingly touching his face. 'I have longed so for this moment, but now that it has arrived, I do not know how to precisely continue where all was left off.'

Elrond smiled.

'Perhaps we should simply be ourselves…'

'Perhaps…' Celebrían nodded with a smile.

'Which will plainly make me that pondering Peredhel you married a long time ago…' He smiled, moving closer and nimbly kissing her.

'Yet I doubt I am still the young maiden you married…' she softly spoke, running her fingers through his wet hair.

'I married a young maiden,' Elrond smiled, enjoying the caresses. 'I fell in love with one, and yet she was wiser than I was when we married. And now my heart is stolen by that same young maiden, if I am not mistaken.' With a playful look he tugged at the light, elegant dress she had changed into. 'Will you not join me?'

Celebrían sighed with playful rejection.

'We have to go to the feast, El-nîn…'

Elrond groaned unhappily.

'Why?'

'Because I want to show you off… And I want you to meet someone…'

'And who would this be?' He looked at her suspiciously.

She gave him a smug smile.

'The youngest High Prince of Tirion. He has been coming here much over the last quarter yén…'

With a splash of water, Elrond sat back.

'And why is that?'

He watched his wife smile mischievously.

'I know not, my Lord…'

Elrond did not understand the entire concept of these High Princes of Tirion. He had heard them alluded to several times, but no one had as yet taken the time to explain it to him. Well, there seemed to be no time like the present. He observed Celebrían, who seemed to be looking for someone.

'Why are they called High Princes?'

With a grin she looked at him.

'No one has told you?'

He raised his eyebrows as someone caught his arm and welcomed him. He gave a short nod and turned to his wife again.

'No one did.'

'You shall understand in a moment, there is no doubt that you will…'

Showing some signs of displeasure due to this curious answer, Elrond began to inspect his surroundings more intently as he let her guide him by the arm towards the centre of the festivities.

Then suddenly, he felt Celebrían enthusiastically react to something or someone, and her voice sounding clearly, the name she called making him go into some unforeseen suspended state.

'Ereinion!'

The High Prince turned towards the call as soon as he heard it, hands behind his back as ever.

His eyes flashed to his formal attire, and he realised the stars neatly embroidered on his tunic were an immediate give-away towards his identity. Unsure if he wanted Elrond to have this advantage, he folded his arms over the silver and blue needlework with a quick movement.

When he looked back up, he found he had not been quick enough. The only thing Elrond seemed to be able to do was stare.

Long had the Master of Imladris considered it folly to contemplate this. He had been equally reserved in expecting to see both his parents upon arriving... But all of it had come about. And this, too, was truly transpiring.

Celebrían put her arm through that of her husband and led him closer.

'Ereinion was at Máhanaxar, but you did not notice him, it seems.'

Observing Elrond was too astounded at the moment to act independently, she motioned him to sit down, and winked at Ereinion. Then, as by lightning, a familiar glimmer appeared in the Elf's eyes, and he smiled at Elrond.

'Maybe it was because you were in such haste.'

Very slowly, a smile began to form on Elrond's face.

'They call you the High Princes of Tirion… The High Kings that have returned from Mandos.'

A broad smile was returned.

'They have additional designations for us. I shall not speak of those at present… You shall probably hear of them when you come to Tirion soon enough… But you missed the start of the feast, and the banquet more importantly. Allow me to enquire if there are some leftovers.'

Celebrían sat down next to Elrond as Ereinion went in search of provisions.

'He acts bravely, but he is as nervous as you are.'

With a shake of the head, Elrond caught her hand.

'I have read many theories speaking of rebirth, studied the few references there were of them… But seeing him, here, now…' He shook his head, then chuckled softly, as if setting aside these thoughts and judging them unimportant. 'He has a designation?'

Narrowing her brow, Celebrían looked at him.

'He does. They all do. More like pet names.'

'What is it?'

'I shall not tell you.'

'Why not?'

'Because you will tease him with it relentlessly.'

Elrond grimaced.

'As if he did not tease me equally when I was younger.'

'The _Elfling_,' Ereinion spoke as he juggled with some plates, three glasses and a bottle of wine under his right arm. Celebrían was quick in assisting, enabling him to put down the remaining plates and the wine. After doing so, he sat down and looked at Elrond. 'They call me the Elfling. Being the youngest and all, I would say.'

For a moment Elrond and Ereinion exchanged a look, but Celebrían could no deduct anything from it, no emotion, no expression, nothing...

And then they both burst into laughter, getting to their feet and firmly embracing each other.

Withdrawing, Ereinion playfully prodded Elrond's shoulder.

'I am still taller though.'

Elrond scowled.

'You are not.'

'Fine,' the other Elf returned, 'I am not.'

Pursing his lips, Elrond sat down, evidently deciding to not honour this jesting with a reply.

Celebrían was not worried about it, and she proved to be right. Not five minutes later they were vividly discussing the road that the party had travelled to get here, and why it might or might not have been the fastest way to reach the Gardens. She left them, taking a moment to speak with her mother.

Galadriel firmly embraced her daughter; they had not yet had the time to greet each other properly.

'How are you, sell-nîn?'

Celebrían withdrew and caught her mother's hand.

'There is very little that could make me happier than I am at this moment, Naneth. Except perhaps the presence of my daughter.' Celebrían had not intended to confront her mother with this at present... She doubted she would ever tackle the subject further than she just had. There was nothing that could possibly change what had happened. And there was no real reason to draw her mother into this conversation. But the urge to indicate to Galadriel that she knew, took her by surprise. The mere existence of this need to speak the words.

_I know you sent him to her. I know the choices of her heart were her own, but you sent him to her…_

A weak smile appeared on the face of the once Lady of the Galadrim, but she ignored the final part of her daughter's words, perhaps catching much of the essence of the silent words.

'You look well… Your father was worried for you… As was I… But neither of us as much as Elrond.'

Celebrían looked back at her husband and saw him laugh with Ereinion and the other Elves that had joined them, attracting an audience as always. Just knowing he was near made it all… right. Returning her gaze to her mother, she found amused eyes resting on her, and her face flustered.

Galadriel laughed.

'You are as besotted as he is.'

With a content sigh, Celebrían turned and settled into a chair.

'Yes… Is it not marvellous?'

He sat deeply in the comfortable chair by the bedroom window, as the thunder rolled softly outside, far away, and rain fell unto the windowsill, wetting the pallid flagstones outside. He had shed his outer robes, and remained clothed in his undertunic and trousers alone.

In the distance, the sound of ever-peaceful harps could be heard as well, and it seemed to have the same effect on him as it had had on her when she had first arrived. Serenity, flowing through his entire body.

Celebrían could feel it from the very place where she was standing.

Elrond had left the feast silently, just as the rain had started. It had increased by now, but not in any way that could really chase any Elves inside…

He was waiting for her.

Careful not to startle him, she swept away his hair and caressed his cheek with her fingers.

With a smile he extended a hand and she lay down in his arms, comfortable, at ease with this physical contact.

Settling her head against his shoulder, listening to his breath, her fingers blindly found the palan-rîn she had given him so long ago. With a smile, she recalled the leather band it had hung from initially, which she had replaced with a mithril chain shortly after their betrothal. The chain was there as it had always been, resting against his skin at all times. The rain still steadily dropping outside, Celebrían sighed contently.

Thoughtlessly, Elrond played with a tress of her hair, and Celebrían watched his nimble fingers, as he gazed at something beyond.

'It is good to have you with me again, herven,' she whispered. Reacting on her words, he looked at her a long while. Then he bent closer, and she granted her lips to his demand. With the tips of his fingers he followed her cheek, as he brought his lips near to her ear.

'The weight of years has never lessened my desire for you…' he spoke, his voice hoarse, his breath irregular, faltering. His other hand was already on her thigh, having found its way under her dress and was softly stroking, innocence that now turned into passion.

Celebrían was swept along, placing her hand on his chest as she whispered into his ear.

'And it burns inside me too, my Lord… Your presence has made it come about…' Withdrawing a little, she looked down on him. He returned the gaze with a smile, and slowly motioned her to stand. Sitting up, he moved his hands to her hips. The look in his eyes made her cheeks glow.

Rising from the chair, his body brushing against hers, Elrond's tone was soft and low.

'I wish to claim thee, my Lady.'

Feeling her breath threatening to run out of control, she looked down for a moment and met his eyes again.

'Then do so, my Lord.'

Elrond chuckled and ran a thumb over her lower lip.

'I will.'

She tilted her head.

'Well? What are you waiti…'

Before she could finish the sentence he had already picked her up and was carrying her towards the bed, the bed that she had slept in alone for over three and a half yén. As he lowered her onto it, he stepped back and watched her, slowly unbuttoning his own tunic. Celebrían sat up, her belly fluttering as never before. Or was this merely because it had been so long? When he dropped the item of clothing onto the floor, he motioned her to come nearer. With a broad smile she moved closer, rising up and levelling with him as she sat on her knees.

Catching her hands, fingers entwining, Elrond brought his lips towards hers and explored her delicious mouth with his tongue, feeling her entire body react.

_How I have missed this, meleth-nîn…_

Celebrían chuckled, as she felt him withdraw somewhat and start to remove her dress.

_Have you?_

Baring her shoulders and pressing his lips against the pale flesh, he nodded.

'So much…'

_I yearn for thee so, my Lord…_

As she sent him the words she trailed her hands over his chest and then let them travel to his back, feeling the sinewy muscles. There was not a single sign that his body was millennia old, she mused.

'Arms,' she heard him whisper, and as she raised them above her head, Elrond promptly released her from the confines of the garment. Then he looked at her, a craving in his eyes she did not recall ever seeing before.

'Lie back… Close your eyes,' he whispered. 'And keep your arms raised…'

With a grin, Celebrían complied. Elrond smiled broadly as he joined her in bed.

He observed her for a moment, propped on one elbow, her slender form lying next to him, until he bent forward to gently kiss her closed eyelids. It only lasted a moment, and he withdrew again.

Rising, he moved one leg to the other side of her, leaning heavily on his arms, not touching her body, not until he leant forward and began to flitter his lips over her skin. The few braids in his hair that proved too heavy to defy gravity fell down as well, only adding to the stimulating of her flesh.

Ever so lightly, he ran the tip of his tongue from her throat down over her chest, between her breasts, around a nipple, before he lowered his mouth over it. Pulling back, he moved the tips of his fingers lower, lingering on her abdomen, knowing he would be able to make her shiver beyond control if he worked her skin right. Very leisurely, he circled her bellybutton, as he watched her nipples stiffen more.

With a grin playing around his lips, caught up in his caressing, he was unsuspecting and consequently easy to overcome when Celebrían suddenly slapped away his hand, and unbalanced him enough to force him onto his back. With a raised eyebrow she moved on top of him.

'I had nearly forgotten these teasing ways of yours, El-nîn…'

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and Elrond raised his hands to hold part of it back, impatiently seeking a merging of lips.

Tempting him by staying only inches away, she parried his hungry demands, meanwhile resting a hand on his thigh, and then slowly following covered flesh upwards. He uttered an amused groan as she found his arousal.

'If you continue that, melethril, I shall not be able to… delay… very long,' he grunted, slightly bucking up his hips under her tenders, still trying to claim her lips with his own.

'I do not wish you to delay very long…' Celebrían answered, granting him that for which he had been hunting so vigorously. With a growl Elrond responded to her kiss, tongues duelling, the mere touch making him more heated yet.

Then she withdrew slightly, slowly unlacing the fastenings of his trousers, fascinated by his face, watching him close his eyes, enraptured, whispering to him, 'Leisure shall be for later.' The words made him laugh.

Stripping him from the last that stood between their joining, he felt her hands find all those places that she had not touched for so long, and finally, after mere fingers, warmth all around his member, her tongue teasing unremittingly.

With a throaty moan he caught her arm and pulled her up again, finding her lips as he rolled her over, his hand subsequently covering a breast, carefully caressing, his erection almost painfully caught between them.

'Leisure for later, you said?' he asked huskily.

A nod and a smile as she pulled him closer, and he was forced to move his hands from her body to be able to support his weight.

'Im aníra-le… si.' she insisted.

There was no need for her to ask again. With an impassioned smile he claimed her lips fiercely and plunged inside, lifting her abdomen in an attempt to reach deeper.

'Celebrían…' he whispered, after he released her lips from a near bruising kiss, feeling her hands clutching to him. 'Bain, mell hiril-nîn…'

Breathless, she nevertheless mustered a broad smile.

'Elrond… Idhren, ernilent hîr…' she returned softly, her breath irregular.

Thrusting his hips against hers, plunging deep within, he felt her move with him, soft moans of pleasure escaping her lips with every advance he made. Even if he wished to be slow, there was no way she would let him, arching her back and urging him on in one of the most tantalizing of ways he had ever experienced.

Her lips, every once in a while coming into contact with the skin of his chest, were answered with little playful bites to her neck, or even the passionate exploration of lips...

Instinctively, Celebrían carefully grazed his back with her nails, sometimes changing to massaging pieces of skin, rubbing his spine, remembering how he had always reacted on it in the past. Pressing her legs against his sides, she held him close, forcing continuous groans from him.

Trying to postpone his nearing climax, he watched her, eyes closed, biting her lower lip and he lost himself then and there. Speeding up again, he felt her hands on his buttocks, urging him on, her breath close to his ear, gasps and soft moans escaping her.

They came together, voicing smothered moans as Celebrían allowed him to turn onto his back and pull her along, making her end up on top of his chest. Lazily he let her slide beside him. Satisfied, she rested her head against his shoulder.

As her deep but regular breath tickled his chest, Elrond felt that which he had missed for so long… Softly he kissed her head.

'Im mîl-le thenin…'

He felt her breath stop, and observed her slowly raise her head to watch him.

'I never doubted that…'

With a deep chuckle he made towards her lips.

Then he collected another pillow to place behind his head, and pulled up a thin sheet to cover them. Celebrían smiled and settled back against him. Elrond languidly draped his arm around her waist, resting a hand on her stomach, using his other arm to cradle her head and play with her hair.

Despite the darkness outside, Ithil shone brightly enough to enable them to watch the rain, now wetting the first row of stone tiles inside as well. Only then did Elrond catch shreds of music again, and voices laughing.

Celebrían closed her eyes, sending him a whisper in her mind.

_You will like it here, melethron… So many places to explore together, not only on Valinor itself, but also within depths of your mind…_

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **

Mae govannen, herven.: Well met, husband. (Sindarin)

Suilad, herves.: Greetings, wife. (Sindarin)

yén: period of 144 years

sell-nîn: my daughter

(the urge Celebrían feels towards telling her mother "I know you sent him to her" refers to the fact that Galadriel admitted Aragorn into Lórien and clothed him like an Elf-lord)

palan-rîn: literally 'palan-' means 'afar' and 'rîn' remembrance

melethron: lover (masculine)

melethril: lover (feminine)

Im aníra-le… si.: I want you… now.

Bain, mell hiril-nîn…: My beautiful, precious Lady…

Idhren, ernilent hîr…: My wise, princely Master…'

Im mîl-le thenin…: I love thee truly…

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	23. Thank you

When I started this, I was not aware it would take 22 chapters…

I guessed ten, then fifteen, but in the end, I suspect it could have easily been 25.

The responsibility for the many mistakes in the previous chapters (both language-wise as well as plot/history-wise) is mine (and I hope to be whacked around the head with them always ;))

First of all, I want to thank my reviewers:

**FionaRayne**, Katy, the fellow UCMEC-er who gave me the stunning amount of 14 reviews, and has therefore earned my eternal gratefulness (and is now allowed to give me a fic challenge if she wants to :)))

As said before, **Diane** and **Desideria**, my fellow Hugo-nuts and faithful reviewers, thank you so very, very much! 

My beta, **Gwilwileth** (I wonder where she got that name…) you are the best!

Then, some of my other fellow UCMEC-ers:

**ShinElrond**, the founder of the Nemis Worshippers I have nothing to say about the subject except ***_blush_**!!*:  (http://www.geocities.com/shinelrond/Nemis) and my general soundboard, thank you for putting up with my moods, reading my nutty scribblings and being a pretty darn good fic-writer yourself! 

**Joan Milligan**, not only the writer of some of the best Silm-ficcies on-line but also a very good cheerer-upper, and proof-reader, many thankies to you! (kick Fëanor for me)

**Casey**, my protector and list loonie, you know how much it means to me that you are…

**kalurien**, with whom I can both share my Hugo-obsession as well as my Elrond obsession, and many a giggle (I think I still have two shoes here you threw at me)

**Woman of the Dunedain**, who I hope will now finally go and read all the chapters ;)

**Gilvala**, who bounces onto MSN every once in a while for a nice chat

**Alena**, probably one of the best beta-readers and fic-writers a girl can have, thank you!

**AshDon**, for nagging me on MSN every once in a while ;)

I also want to specially thank:****

**Little-She-Bear** (with many a chuckle and the hope she will do more humor-ficcies ;)), 

**LoveChilde** (I am looking forward to that Celeborn/Galadriel-ficcy you keep alluding to ;))), 

**Anon. E. Mus**, (with the promise I will soon update Ereinion, and the request for you to update Children of the Elf-lords ;))

**Finch **(who keeps amazing me with each of her passing stories/chapters),****

**Soledad** (who somehow uploads her wonderful tales just when I need a break ;))),

**Sorne** (with an additional thanks for warning me beforehand in her chapter 24 ;)), 

**May**,** Anna, ****Krum-Luver**, **PL**, **Sampson**, **dangermouse**, **nuinred**, **aniwda** (also UCMEC, if I am not mistaken), **Spirit Star**, **onewhocares**, **Oboe-Wan**, **Lady of the Rings**, **Angels Have Gone**, **Eledhwen**, **Deborah**, **Jillian Baade**, **Nimuea**, **Ryven**, **Jessica**, **NeonGensis**, **Kath**, **Pneumatic Angel**, **Tori**, **ElfWarrior**, **Mithril Silver Girl**, **Lady phoenix**, **Stargazer** **Nataku**.

And: Very Happy Reader With Sore Eyes, Outlaw, Dunrant, Rowan, Haleth, Tadandader, FA, the Fox, Shana, Monique, Redneck, Skylar, Emily, Austin, Katherine, Jen, odessey, Jedi-Aerin, Crucifyx, Danielle, Ranolorial, Handmaiden, NickleS, BlueberryPancakes, Carasiel, Miss Kitty, Kirsty-Q, Mary, Stephanie, Sangwaelen, Mouse, Eldarwen (heehee ;)), Kimberleigh, Duryudana, Lady Winter, bridget-jones, Cassie-Chan, Aredhel (apologize for not sending email), Mouth of Sauron, Armageddon Girl

And, of course, **Spes Unica** and **Darkmage** for illustrating (see http://www.geocities.com/nem_is_is/drawings.html) 

Then, I want to apologize for people who have asked me things which I did not answer, or asked me to email them and did not get a reply… 

Now you know why my family and friends stick those yellow memo-stickers on me if they want me to remember something… You can kick me if you like… 'T would be allowed…

Then, to lift a tip of the veil concerning the sequel: it would probably be best to call it AU, because I will be venturing in very un-chartered territory here. In a nutshell: we shall be seeing something of the life of the Eldar on Valinor (especially my favourite characters), the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir, and a romance I can't believe I actually invented.

I will probably try and finish Ereinion first though, because that story, too, might become a part of the cycle, reference-wise…

Some links:

**UCMEC** (Unofficial Committee for More Elrond and Celebrían fan-fiction,; though we have long stopped being precisely that, and have turned into a gathering place for writers who love Elves in general ;)): http://groups.yahoo.com/group/UCMEC/

**TFoEG** (The Fellowship of Ereinion Gil-galad): http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TFoEG/

**Silmfics** (thanks to Joan): http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Silmfics/

**_The Encyclopedia of Arda_** (http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/) has been a very important place for much of my historical research and fact-checking; for my Elvish there have been many handy sites, but mostly: 

http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/,

http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm, 

http://greenbooks.theonering.net/ostadan/files/020101_quenya.html,

http://www.rebirth-of-arda.com/tolktranslate.htm,

http://www.geocities.com/almacq.geo/sindar/ (!!)

Timeline-wise: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Corridor/8611/tolk_0.htm

Chuckle-wise: http://www.ansereg.com/what_tolkien_officially_said_abo.htm

And of course the books of **JRR Tolkien**, as well as the **_History of Middle-earth _**volumes (Christopher Tolkien), **_The Atlas of Tolkien's Middle-Earth_** (Karen Wynn Fonnstad), and, though I am loathe to admit it and I shall never forgive him for interpreting Gil-galad's death in that particular way, **_The Complete Guide to Middle-Earth_** (by Robert Foster), have been a great help in writing this story.

Thanks again, and hugz to you all, 

Nemis


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